slt_archive | (no subject)

Chrysos, I'm going to take your temperature. I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe here.

[presses the end of the stem to Chrysos' skin, and also spreads a cool, liquid salve from the vial against his arm. It is a fast-acting sedative, powerful enough to kill the adrenaline in a rampaging Orvi - though if this is what he fears... all it will do is calm Chrysos down.]

* like a switch flipped-- the moment stem and salve make contact-- *

---no!!

* --in a flash of movement his body twists the other way and one arm lashes out wildly at the voice. *

[jolts back and the vial and stem clatter to the floor, both spinning-- his breath catches and thanks Surgeon that he thought to press both quick and simultaneously. He lashes his vines at him in an attempt to secure him]

Chrysos please calm down.

* he's already lunging right off the bed--- but the vines lash against his hands just before they reach Allen's neck, and the cry that escapes him is more pain than rage. *

[for a second he's so shocked by the fact that he's caused him enough pain to scream just by touching him that he hesitates and unravels, despite the direct attack, stumbling backwards instead]

* --a thump and another choked cry as his chest slams onto Allen's knees-- and his hands grab at the front of the boy's clothes, pulling at them, body trembling violently with the effort. *

[Allen can feel the heat through his clothes-- that's the very first thought, how hot Chrysos' body is, but the rest of him is wide-eyed and terrified, freezing up as all of his careful training, knowledge, ability to understand -- symptoms of hysteria, delusions, violence, increased strength, tremors, pain, unbelievable heat -- the conclusion he's reaching is only causing his heart to pound too fast, his stomach in his throat. He weakly, slowly tries to escape from him as if tranquilized himself, unable to compose himself as Chrys claws at him.]

C-chrysos. Chrysos, please stop. You're hurting yourself.

* he pauses, still clutching Allen's collar-- and whether it's the words, or the sedatives kicking in, or just sheer exhaustion... *

* letting go, he collapses to one side, shivering and whimpering. *

[Frozen in place.

He turns his head to stare at him, then stares at where the temperature stick had clattered to the ground. It's just a line of red, half ash, like incense half-burned. That temperature and alive. Beyond human, this disease transforms the sick to something that accommodates great rage of the mind and body. But this is no Berserker state.]

* the trembling slowly, slowly subsides, though not entirely gone. *

* a slight movement... and bloodshot blue eyes looking up at him. *

...Feramis...?

[Bloodshot eyes... so bloodshot they are nearly red.

There is no mistake.]

Chrysos Kenni, how have you become so sick?

* eyelids close, and open, and it takes a moment. *

...hoped... you could tell me that.

[applying SOME MORE SEDATIVE]

You have a very rare illness. What has happened to you? Your home is the Core. You should not have this.

...

Where... from...?

[speaks low, even, and fast]

The last case for it was far north, in Lepus. It effected Berserkers, but it was realized that it could affect anyone. It induces a transformation in the body and freezes you there, permanently. The body changes into a constantly regenerative state to accommodate, until the victim is unrecognizable and entirely mad.

...north...?

* for a moment, his gaze shifts from Allen's face to the worktable behind him. *

...the sample...

. . .[follows his gaze]

What sample?

* the worktop is bare, but he's eying the lowest left drawer. *

...'sygnite'. Prospectors... found last month. Up north.

Ran tests... when it came.

. . .Something must have triggered it. . . It isn't caused by a mere stone. Has anyone else touched it?

Ceres...

* --eyes widen, and he tenses-- fingers digging into the floor as he tries to push himself up *

Ceres-- she handled--

* --and his arms buckle, sending him to the floor again. *

[Allen tenses and his hands hover when Chrysos collapses again]

How long ago did she handle it? Hours ago?

* gritting his teeth together, breath hissing through the gaps. *

...no.

Not sure... days.

. . .She is fine. She does not have it. Whatever the trigger is must not have lasted.

[fists his hands]

Chrys, listen to me. There-- there is one way to cure this. Are you listening?

...

* nods. *