the other side of this mean twilight

[fidior]

Who: Edward Little / Konstantin Veshnyakov / YOU!
What: catchall for shenanigans — let's plot something or hit me with a wildcard, I'm easy!
When: August for now, possibly September
Where: various places: potentially Milton, Lakeside, Silverpoint

Comments

[astrogator]

[ Growing familiarity makes the journey easier for Tayrey, this time. She knows that won’t always be the case; that in the depths of winter it’ll be a hard line to travel. That isn’t an excuse not to do it, she tells herself, even as the cold wind nips at her exposed face. She’s an astrogator who flies a frontier line. Difficulty is a matter of pride.

(There’s a reason that line tends to be populated by smaller ships. There’s a reason why recently-qualified Tayrey is second astrogator running her own shift, and not somebody’s assistant on a ship three times the size.)

Commander Veshnyakov’s company is, as she expressed to him, very welcome. The miles pass by far more quickly with somebody to talk to. He lets her talk about the Tradelines, and she’s able to speak of the ship and the people she left behind without falling into the melancholy of the stranded spacer. And Tayrey talks a lot. She talks about Chernova and Lowell as if they were only a shuttle ride away, and eager to meet him. She talks about enormous forested planets and dingy space station bars, shining Company Towers and the indescribable colors of L-space, in dimensions no planetsider has ever witnessed.

When she’s not talking, Tayrey sings. Her own songs, or snippets of Konstantin’s, copied, until she’s breathless from the exertion of it and has to walk in companionable silence a while. The sled isn’t as heavily laden as it could be, and she feels stronger here than she did shipside, these days. At first, she’d felt awful, as if suffering from some sickness. Her explanation for it is that there must be something odd in the atmospheric composition, which her body has now adapted to. The hard truth – that her genetic advantages were dampened upon arrival, and that the Old Bear had granted her that old capacity, and more besides – Arilanna Tayrey would never believe, were she told it. Regardless, she has the endurance to manage the sled and its cargo. She judged well.

Nights are easier with Konstantin, too. What would be utterly scandalous in ordinary circumstances is fully permissible on expedition, no need for separate shelters. She feels safe, in that little cave, noise and light to keep away opportunistic creatures, and the agreement of watch hours. She could never sleep well, alone, and this environment makes it worse. No comforting hum of starship engines, but alien rustles and squawks and howls far off in the distance.

The fire flickers. It still feels an extravagance to her, burning paper, but she has to take the rationalist view. This isn’t her sector, where paper books are rare and precious antiques. They’re everywhere. She has collected enough of her own to amass a fortune back home, but here they are worthless. Supply and demand.

She’s about to tell Konstantin the story of the slow ships of Kishar when he stands, suddenly, unsteadily, and hurries out into the cold. At first, she doesn’t react, nothing beyond a flicker of her gaze towards the mouth of the cave. He wouldn’t thank her for following after him if it’s a matter of hygiene! She values privacy and discretion highly, after all.

So Tayrey waits, holding up her hands, seeing the light of the flames reflected on her fingers. She waits, until she starts to feel concern – and then she hears that cry of pain, and she can’t ignore it. There’s discretion, and then there’s plain lack of care. She’s on her feet, rushing out into the snow, where she sees him bent double, a feverish sheen to his brow. ]

Commander.

[ She’s at his side, one arm across his back, all support and reassurance. ]

Commander, you aren’t well. Come inside, I’ll get the medkit.

[ The medkit that is pitifully stocked by her standards, alien medicines scavenged and traded, substances she’d need chemical formulae to identify. Her mind leaps to the worst scenario. Abort the journey, leave the cargo in the cave, let him sit atop the sled and get back to Milton as fast as she can.

She could do it.

It would still take days.

Tayrey doesn’t let that fear show. If he’s sick, then more than ever he needs her to be steady. ]

cw: Emeto Things involving blood

[sputnik]

[ It's no true surprise when he feels the pressure of contact against his back and hears the young lieutenant's voice, as steadfast as ever. There's no doubts that she would come to help him; he knows her character. And for some strange moment, there's almost a sort of joy in that realisation — yet another reminder of not being alone, of having a back-up, a companion. He knows Tayrey's not his co-pilot, but in a sense they occupy that role for one another, on this little journey. It's nice to have someone's back and to know in return they have yours, no questions asked.

But in the next beat comes a flash of horror through that realisation, as she's leaning in close, offering him support and care. A quick sweep of guilt flooding in, because letting himself rely on her like this is selfish, and Konstantin knows it, has known it from the moment he volunteered to accompany her out here. How many times has he assumed the thought he'd be fine, safe, and been proven wrong? How many times has this very world itself thrown a wrench right into any ounce of stability that he might have achieved, even with his alien passenger? This place can manipulate itself any second. It could even force the thing out of him.

....But the alternative is to hide away, to not do anything, to play it safe. And he's done that for a very long time, for too long since his arrival in Milton. He's tired of living that way; it's not him.

But is this the alternative? Not playing it safe, making these treks and trying to do some good, and putting other people in potential danger in the process? (Konstantin knows what the best thing to do is; after nearly two years in this place he's no stranger to the concept. He should have told Tayrey about his situation before he agreed to join her like this. Even now, he still keeps too many secrets. He should have told this entire community, but that could put him in danger, and— what's the best thing here? Who does he choose to protect? Himself, or everyone else around him?)

Selfishly, shamefully, he knows he's been afraid of the inevitable day that the young lieutenant finds out. Because there's always a risk he'll lose someone when they learn what's wrong with him, and he wants to keep her. He can't accept the concept of losing anyone else that his heart has become attached to.

Maybe this will pass soon. These spells can range from mild to intense; maybe he can push through this one. He shouldn't assume the absolute worst to begin with despite the unpleasant pounding of his heart, a mix of kneejerk fear through the adrenaline rush. He's nodding at Tayrey's words, turning into her guidance, offering a breathless attempt at a laugh as he reaches up with his other hand to give her shoulder a grateful pat. But even he can feel that the gesture's weak and shaky, hand trembling. ]

I'm so sorry about this, lieutenant. I might have been overdoing it lately. Feeling a little dizzy.

[ He starts moving back with her, embarrassed and ashamed to be seen like this, so weak, so pathetic, trying to shrug it off as though it's not a big deal. It's fine, it's fine, it's— suddenly he's stumbling as a flood of vertigo knocks him sideways. He feels himself tip into her without meaning to, tries to find his weight again and stand upright but his head's a dizzy whirlwind and his body feels so sick. Suddenly Konstantin's dry-heaving again, doubling over, one hand clamped to his mouth around a moan of pain.

He tries to pull away, to turn away from her, shaking in a fresh cold sweat. He can feel it coming — fast and abrupt, and then his hand's jerking away from his mouth as he vomits out onto the snow. What comes is red: blood from what he'd fed the creature before, what it hasn't yet digested. ]