singillatim | Part Two: The Detective

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)

He's spent a long time thinking about the concept of being chosen. Konstantin knows it was just... chance, in his case. He and his co-pilot stumbled across something they shouldn't have. How it specifically got to their shuttle, he doesn't know; maybe it was lost out in space, somehow. The thing seems... young; perhaps it was even just born when it first infiltrated him.

It chose him because Averchinko was sick and the creature could sense that. There was nothing else to it, even if... Konstantin can't help hanging onto the thought that he deserved to be chosen, taken. It's a suiting fate for him.

He stares at the other man, listens to him speak. "You've become... friends with him." Partners, he'd even said. They work together, a team. It's a... strange thought, an uncomfortable one. He can't imagine ever wanting anything more than to get rid of the thing that possesses his body.

"What will happen to you in the long term? Do you know?" Will it alter him? Kill him? Will he lose himself completely to it, someday? These are all things he's wondered about his own situation.

Arthur's expression had been focused, but not cold; it's just a lot of story to try and navigate without completely terrifying his new friend. But the question makes him grimace before he can help it, and he sighs as he lifts a hand to run through his hair. Once neatly styled, the edges clipped short, now starting to get shaggy, stubble thickening as it gets harder and harder to find the will to bother shaving.

"I don't know," he says simply. "I've... met other beings, like John, who- who have taken hosts as well, humans to anchor their presence to in our world. One of them is- he's killing his host, draining his life even as the man drains the being's magic. And... another was manipulating their host in her sleep, keeping her asleep to the point that it wasn't possible for her to fight it, or... or to even wake up."

His thumbs roll over each other with the quiet shift of leather on leather, an almost ghostly noise in the quiet of the hut. "What John and I have is unique. He can harm me, l-like all the others, but... he chooses not to. And I think that matters."

Magic. These... beings, they're something with magic, something.. certainly not of this natural world. Konstantin falls quiet again for several moments, chewing over what he's been told. At least the surge of anxiety and adrenaline has died down a little, his stomach no longer clenched tightly, blood no longer rushing, though he stays tense.

"So these beings are... capable of doing good, or bad. Help or harm. At least by human standards." He knows all too well that concepts like 'good' and 'bad' are often too simple for such complicated matters. But... to put it simply like that, yes — these things, this... John Doe, if he can choose whether to harm his host or not... it puts him into a different sort of category than the thing that occupies the cosmonaut. At least, he thinks.

"The creature inside of me... doesn't have any concept of good, or bad. Just survival. At least as far as I know." After all this man has shared with him, Konstantin feels compelled to share more information in kind, as he stares down at his hands. "I don't actually know much about it. It only infected me about a month before I was brought to this place. In that time, I was kept in a facility to be... researched."

He tilts his head in a slight shrug. "It's... difficult to say how much these beings understand humanity as a concept whatsoever. Yours because it's- very clearly animalistic, o-or at least underdeveloped, but John was..." His mouth presses for a moment. "He existed in a form that lived outside of humanity for so long, on such a different scale of understanding, that- most of our time is me teaching him what being human even means."

He sighs as he sits up a little more, trying to relax. "That understanding I have of him and his kind actually informs a lot of my understanding of the Darkwalker, or what little I do have on it. Something that- sees us as no different to the leaves on trees, or the way we would perceive an anthill. It exists, certainly - but what does it matter, in our personal understanding of the universe, of our own grand schemes and desires, o-our fates if you want to get theological." He swallows lightly. "John had to learn that. Morality, emotions, for better or worse. And it seems like your- parasite, as well-" though the word tastes bad in his mouth, the edge of a grimace following it. "It's at least making attempts to look after your well being, if only by proxy to its own."

Such things almost breach into.... something god-like, perhaps, or at least — otherworldly. It's difficult for Konstantin, being who and what he is, to wrap his head around it — but he does accept it as reality, even if it's one that belongs to another world. Clearly, such things really do exist.

Whereas his own situation may be unprecedented, but it's still.. something that humans can explain. Alien life is simply life beyond Earth, but it's still.. corporeal, it can be studied and examined.

He nods as he listens, paying attention, though there's a slight wince at the word theological, the concept of fate; it's an unpleasant taste in his own throat.

"I'm sorry you had to witness it for yourself. It sounds like you've had more than your share of.... strange, frightening things." A soft, humourless sound. This is all pretty damn horrific, even if he'd established some sort of peace with the entity sharing his body, the thing that took his sight. Konstantin's disturbed by the thought of all of it.

"It's fortunate it didn't try to attack you. It's intelligent, and unfeeling. No morality, no emotions, it's— ....It's a monster." The words come out darker than he usually lets his tone grow, and with a little shudder at the corners. He can't let himself feel empathy for this grotesque, violent thing that keeps him full of blood. If he could rip it out of himself right now, he would.

Monster.

Despite himself, his own jaw tightens. Still empathy, because God if he doesn't understand Konstantin's situation from extremely personal experience - but sympathy too. For the creature itself.

How many times had he used the word on John, how many times had John made efforts to push past it, to be more than that, than a parasite? Fuck, even through Yellow, he knows what it's like to be denied that chance and fall on old habits and harmful ways.

He's silent, as he processes that for a few seconds. Then a deep breath, bracing himself for what he can only expect will be a bitter rebuttal. "I don't believe that. About your creature. I can't."

The response draws Konstantin into silence for a few long moments, too. There's a kneejerk flicker of irritation, but one he swallows back, at least for the moment. This man doesn't deserve his anger, and it wouldn't truly be aimed at him, anyway. Instead, he pushes that emotion towards confusion, turning his head to face the other, studying him seriously, curiously.

"You've seen it for yourself. How... grotesque it is. What it does to people. Its existence is only possible by feeding from living things. Surely even you must see it as something monstrous."

It's not like his John Doe. It lives only for itself, uses him as its nest.

Faust is still too raw in his heart, the memory too nauseating to bring that up. To tempt the possibility of Konstantin asking a question Arthur can't bring himself to answer.

Instead, he folds his hands again, projecting steadiness and calm. "I won't pretend that its preferred choice of- of meal isn't..." But his voice is tight, still, when he continues: "Distressing. But from its perspective, it's no different to- to a vulture eating a lion, I suppose. And morality is- that's an entirely human construction, one it's not- reasonable, o-or perhaps even fair to assign to something so outside of that."

Now the harder sell: "As for emotions, it certainly feels fear, in watching me try to take away its shelter. I saw it exhibit..." He waves a hand vaguely. "Irritation, petulance." And he meets Konstantin's eyes again, steady as steel. "And I cannot be the first person who have witnessed it, or shown it kindness, because it had to have learned from someone else that the gestures and tone of voice I was using meant I didn't wish to harm it. Most likely someone here, if you were kept under study previously, because I can't imagine doctors showing that level of deviancy any sort of kindness."

Edited 2024-10-25 05:03 (UTC)

The unpleasant thing that he's trying very hard to stave off ripples again. It feels like— anger, though again, it's not necessarily aimed at Arthur. Objectively, he knows everything the other man's saying is true. He knows the creature can't, shouldn't be, gauged by human standards. He knows it's just as much a victim of its circumstances as he is. Earth is... an alien planet for it, and a miserable existence for the being. It can't even survive without his body as protection; it's so sensitive to the world around it.

And whether some of its 'emotions' are simply absorbed from its host or genuinely felt, he knows it's capable of them. Fear. Pleasure, displeasure. Curiosity. Rudimentary, perhaps, but more intelligent than he knows he's giving it credit for. It's almost... octopus-like, in its intelligence levels.

Arthur's also disconcertingly astute in all of his deductions regarding the creature learning from someone here, too. Konstantin sits there, a little stunned by the truths this man is saying, and feeling that kneejerk push against them. He breaks eye contact, his own jaw tightening as he's quiet for a moment, thinking. When he speaks again, there's no smile in his voice or his eyes.

"Whatever it's learned from people here, it utilises only for its own survival. Perhaps morality is an unfair concept to apply to such a creature," he does agree there, nodding softly. "But it isn't... a dog, or a cat. It isn't capable of true attachment. If you don't want to say it's capable for such a being to be cruel, I understand, but it's cold. Like an insect.

...The best outcome would be to exterminate it. Back in my home, I don't know if that's possible. But here, it's weaker. Maybe here, it can be killed."

Beat, and then something he hasn't said aloud yet, not once. But he thinks it every day.

"I am glad that you've found some kind of... peace, with your John Doe. But I want my life and my body back."

Arthur keeps watching him, and there's an odd sense of triumph in seeing the cheerful facade crack.

But he can't help the light scoff at Konstantin's closing statement.

"And you think I don't?" he asks wryly. "I was blind, and if we find a way to go home I certainly will be again. I had no sensation in my left hand, whatsoever, because that belongs to John. It's true that-" he waves a hand vaguely. "Perhaps I no longer resent him for it, generally speaking - but that doesn't mean I didn't miss my sight. Or that he could survive without my sacrifice."

His tone cools a little. "So... that means I wouldn't have ever gotten them back. Not without losing someone I care immensely about."

That has him looking back up again, and something in his own dark eyes softens once more. Curious, and wounded.

"How did you... manage it? How could you live like that and not..."

Want to die, is the thought that comes automatically, but he doesn't voice. It's what he chose for himself, in the end. There was more to it — the military and scientists were about to capture him again, and this time he'd never escape. They'd continue the experiments, turn him and the creature into their weapon. He had to end it, to keep humanity safe.

But it was also because.... he'd truly rather die than live like that, if there was no hope of separation, if he was only going to exist as a lab rat, if he'd be damned to live this way forever, home to a monster. He's never told anyone here this, either. Not even Vasiliy knows that last part.

"How did you keep it together?" He reshapes it like that instead, staring over at Arthur.

That gets a wry hum, despite himself. "Unfortunately, the answer is largely that everything that kept happening to us was worse than whatever our own struggles were. We learned to... to put aside our difficulties in pursuit of survival. See the bigger picture." He sits back a little, feeling his stiff leg complain at the motion. "Which isn't particularly helpful advice for you, but."

He scratches his jaw idly, frowning as he tries to find better words.

"...when I wanted to kill myself, it wasn't to do with John," he says, frank but gentle. "O-or it wasnt... because of him. It was to do with the situation, of course, but... it's because I was overwhelmed, I was- defeated, and- a-and I couldn't see any other options. Finishing off the job that everyone else seemed insistent on starting seemed like the easiest option."

His hands go back together, playing with his pinky again. "I didn't care who might suffer because of it. I was..."

And he tugs the collars of his jackets down, to reveal a slick, jagged gash across his throat, one that very much looks fatal. "Cutting my throat to spite my face, I suppose."

Konstantin falls silent again as he listens, the words snagging something up under his ribcage and hooking in hard and deep. He stares, horrified and drawn into those words all in the same moment, the way he's been about much of this strange, uncomfortable, revealing conversation with this mysterious man.

Slowly, his eyes lower to the gash that Arthur exposes to him. Does that mean... it was successful? Is he like Konstantin, then? Did he kill himself and then wake up here, somehow, miraculously, horrifically, alive?

There's a round scar in his abdomen where the bullet went in, hard and fast. He knows it worked. It had to have worked. He isn't supposed to be alive.

"Did this place... bring you back?" He all but whispers the question, eyes intense and wounded and breath tighter in his throat.

That gets a soft huff.

"It did, but... not because of this one." As he tugs his collar back up again. "Another being healed that one. I was stabbed by something else just before I arrived." He taps his torso, just shy of his sternum. A blow that certainly would have been fatal. "Run through with a rapier, funny enough. But I fell unconscious, so I can almost certainly make the assumption."

Konstantin's jaw tightens, thoughts racing through his mind. He doesn't know if this place truly brought him back or if it just... stopped him from dying. Kept a final breath going in his lungs, healed him enough to be able to crawl his way along the snow, until he was helped by others' hands. He remembers waking in a puddle of blood.

"....You've been quite the victim of brutality," he offers with a wince. But there's horror lingering beneath. Arthur was healed by another being, before. And then healed again in this place, the same as Konstantin himself.

.....The idea of not being able to die when you want to is.... horrific. Terrifying.

"Are you glad that you've been brought back and healed, again and again? Are you... grateful for a second chance?"

He knows it's a personal question, deep and cutting. Arthur may flinch away from it, and Konstantin would certainly let him. But they've shared much about one another — and he's on the cusp of sharing more about his own scars, just.. He has to ask. From someone else who understands.

"Honestly, at this point I'm probably on something like my ninth or tenth," he comments with grim humour. Easier to make light of the fact than focus on what it actually means.

But his voice drops a little when he continues. "But... still. I'm not upset, no. Not when it meant I got another chance to find out what happened to John and I, to- to solve the mysteries we found ourselves tangled in."

He glances up at Konstantin, but doesn't make an effort to hold his gaze. "I suppose the difference is... we always had something to look forward to. Or at least something to look for, something to keep us from getting lost in the darkness of everything we encountered."

He gives another soft huff, more gentle this time, and his words are measured, intoned. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep."

Ninth or tenth... It's almost incredible, in all the most horrible ways, that this mild-mannered younger man has been through such.... tragedy. How is he able to smile at all?

(Is it the same way that Konstantin's able to smile, despite the fact he's lost everything? There is nothing left for him back home. He is nothing. He's able to smile only because he wills it to be, all of the conditioning and training making him a powerhouse in the Art of Playing A Part.)

But no... No, it doesn't seem to be that way for Arthur. It's something much more authentic, more... hopeful. ('it meant I got another chance' — 'always had something to look forward to' — 'something to keep us from getting lost in the darkness')

He keeps staring over at him as he recites those words, the well-known Frost poem. Konstantin doesn't... talk about these things, never too much — only Vasiliy knows most of it — but... here and now, sitting beside someone like this... It feels a little safe to, maybe.

"The facility I was kept in before here... They were never going to let me go. I escaped, but it was only temporarily. They found me again. Maybe I already knew they would." His words come quiet and slow. There was no way he could outrun the Soviet military, the scientists.

"They wanted to make this... creature into a weapon." He glances down at himself, eyes drifting to his abdomen, where the thing curls up and rests, safe and warm from the cold around it.

"Use it for war. It could have had devastating effects for humanity. ....So I killed it, and myself. Shot us both." His free hand drifts to his abdomen, fingers brushing across his shirt front.

"Back where I'm from, I'm considered a Hero. It's a title given. I wanted to sacrifice myself, to save the world. I wanted to be something so... good. But if I'm honest with myself? It was also a selfish act. Maybe mostly selfish, in the end. I didn't want to live like this. I wanted to die."

He looks over at Arthur, aware of how vulnerable he's being, aware of the tremour to his voice, uncomfortable and desperate to share with someone all at the same time. "Waking up here, realising I wasn't... dead.... I don't know how to contend with that. The days pass by, but it can't last. I don't want this to last."

Arthur lets him talk, uninterrupted. This is clearly something he's not spoken of much, if it took this far into the discussion to even bring it up, and he wants to let him get the words out.

And when he's done, he stays silent for a few seconds. Looking down at their forgotten fishing lines, chewing on his words, trying to find something that...

There's no making this better. But at least there's feeling seen. Recognising that your pain isn't unique hurts, but by god is it better than being alone.

"John and I have been in... similar circumstances. Trapped by a higher power, monitored at all times, unable to- do much of anything, besides survive. And even then, it was... difficult. When our captors had no vested interest in my survival. He- they just wanted John. I was collateral, at best. An active a-and stubborn obstruction in the way of what they really wanted."

His hands knot, bouncing gently between his knees. "I don't think it's weak. To want not to live like that. I think it's... human, completely and utterly, to fight against being captured like that. Against being reduced to less than a person. And neither is taking it out on the only thing you can meaningfully impact."

He gestures to his throat again, just tapping it through his layers. "Perhaps it is selfish. But it's our life, to do with as we wish."

Part Two: The Detective

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cw: suicide things

Cw: So many suicide things

cw: continued suicide things

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cw: suicide things yet again boyos

Re: cw: suicide things yet again boyos

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