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all of a sudden you're a hostage to things you thought you wanted
( open for messages, action, overflow. )
( open for messages, action, overflow. )
( open for messages, action, overflow. )
( open for messages, action, overflow. )
no subject
no sound, but 4's body jerks when the scalpel is pulled out. he blinks, trying to get his vision to focus, not quite successful, faintly turning his head only to feel hands on either side of it hold him in place. the feeling of medicine's face this close is hardly his biggest concern, but the sniffing is an action so utterly unexpected that 4 finds himself confused again all over.
the confusion is enough to put him off kilter enough to answer shakily, )
— ah...permet. An element. This body ... ( there are hesitations in his speech, because focusing is still a bit difficult, but he adds, still fairly calm and quiet,)...is infused with it.
( but it's largely dormant if it's not in a 'body' whether that's a human body or a piece of technology to catalyze its uses. certainly there are exceptions, but in 4's case, the blood that drips from his neck and the blood pulled into a syringe earlier will not exhibit any of the iridescent resonance.
because he's weaker than before, when he lifts a hand to try and just push medicine off it's entirely negligible but 4 is having a hard time feeling his limbs enough to tell. )
no subject
[ they feel a little stupid from having it said directly to them, but they're happy enough as they pull away with a wide smile. sharp teeth showing as they continue to be thrilled at the information, and they lean up to sit properly on him as the other lays on the floor.
the amount of fighting back has slowed down, and medicine pocket watches them properly now to see what's wrong. ]
Hm... aggravation causes it to stir, but that can't be it. What is the healthier way to make it appear?
[ maybe they should focus on how weak he is, but that's not as important as information.
what does catch their attention is the blood that's pouring, how much is leaking from them in an unhealthy amount.
they should fix that, but... ]
Come on, before you bleed out.
no subject
...there...there isn't...one.
( whether or not medicine pocket believes him is not a concern, and he isn't trying to sound particularly convincing, indeed 4's voice remaining more or less the same this whole time. the main difference is that it's a little quieter now and a little stilted, the discomfort from the wound in his neck actually coming second best to the lancing of the permet through him, brightest along his arms under his sleeves, the sides of his neck, and under his eyes. some of the striations seem almost white rather than red. )
no subject
digging into their pocket, they pull out a thin, clear tube with a needle at the end that matches the one that's connected to medicine pocket's own neck. they dig out a gun-like apparatus, hooking up the second tube to it as they push the needle into the other's neck on the opposite side of where they cut. once it's secure, they push a button on the machine that comes to life with a loud beep, and the blood that has been moving through the tube on medicine pocket's side is quick to filter into the opposite tube. ]
Think of it as a steroid, and a numbing agent.
[ that's what they're using their blood for at the moment as gloved hands search for needle and thread. they find the latter, but the former is a little harder to come across with all the junk in their pockets: tooth picks, needles, half-eaten dog treats, but when they do find the needle that is when they scoot closer up the other's body to sit on their chest somewhat.
medicine pocket waits for their blood to run through the other's system before they start to close up the area where they had cut him. ]
no subject
whatever sensation of numbness it should cause is overshadowed by the boiling quality of the permet sharp and hot and suffocating. it's the permet more than the blood loss or the sutures that causes the irregularity in his breathing, little gasps more so than normal inhales or exhales.
if he were more coherent, 4 would raise a brow at the myriad of things that medicine pocket takes out of...well. their pockets. but since he isn't, there's only a slightly dulled expression contrasted by the glaring permet. depending on medicine pocket's own sensitivity, they might find that touching 4 is slightly uncomfortable (whether it's sitting on him or sewing him up), simply because the heat radiating off of him is exponentially above what's normal. )
no subject
they stay in place, a heavy exhale as they begin to finish threading the flesh together tightly in order to keep him from bleeding anymore than he already has.
if he dies then medicine pocket will be in trouble with their superior, the foundation aren't too keen on human experiments, and medicine pocket doesn't want to lose their job. then again, it's not like they'd know this person existed, and medicine pocket is only here due to their own interest. as soon as their job is done, medicine pocket slides off of the body with a raise of their brow wondering how long he'll overheat. ]
Should I throw water on you?
[ with a tilt of their head, they don't move too far since they're connected through the blood coming from their body into his own. ]
no subject
( sweat beads across 4's skin, his forehead, down the side of his neck, the length of his rigid spine. he can feel the other tells of not being a perfect vessel: too elevated heartrate, tightness of chest, numbness that contradicts the burning everywhere. throughout it all though, because this is at this point par for the course, his expression barely fluctuates. rather, it's only when green eyes shift to focus loosely on the blood connection apparatus that there's a shift of look at all. still unreadable by ordinary standards, though 4 does find his voice again. )
you're not...human...are you?
( this could mean a multitude of things. for all intensive purposes, 4 isn't either or that's a question of ethics. a question that's unaskable given he's a breach of at least five policies and protocols. but that's neither here nor there. a clone is a clone, even if once, long ago, 4 wore a different face and name that actually belonged to him; it's not as though he remembers what those were anyway.
and...what medicine pocket is...what they are or who they work for...he has no idea but he's already asked so he waits, shivering through the persistent fever of the permet and the too ample blood loss, looking slightly paler for the wear. )
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[ not good things, but it's identifiable in their voice that they would have said something that would have been harsh by human standards. that's why medicine pocket isn't too cruel on their test subject, and instead tries to find points about this person that puts them above humans. ]
You can't be either, I've never seen this in a human before. Well, any of the fuckers I've checked.
[ testing the body is what they're good at, especially with how precise they are when dealing with the body next to them. they don't know what it is that swims through his body, but they're curious, and truthfully they want a sample to play with. how can they go about that? ]
You're more interesting than the rest... let's see, what does it say.
[ they click a button on the apparatus, and it's details go as following: it allows medicine pocket to see how much blood runs through the other's body, they're able to note the temperature, and even the erratic heartbeat. ]
no subject
of course, they were.
a slow shaky breath. the floor is colder because 4 is so untenably warm. not human? by all accounts, he should pass as one. the face he wears and the imperfect body his original body was remade into. human. down to its core. that erratic heartbeat should be steadier. this composure should not break.
for most purposes, it doesn't.
4 takes his time because he has no choice, experimentally flexing his fingers at his sides as feeling that isn't just heat returns. pain comes with it, like all his nerves remembering how to act like they were told. he's slowly sitting up by the time medicine pocket calls him 'interesting' and eyeballs that weird little tool of theirs.
faintly, 4's brow arches. even at that, it's quite subtle.
whether his legs will serve him right now, he's not sure, so he focuses on neatening the top of his uniform and adjusting his gloves as well, as if he wasn't just shallowly cut open and sewn back together. his eyes, not quite the right green to perfectly match the person he is trying to pass as, fall to medicine pocket's feet for no reason other than it's too much trouble to raise his head right now.
quietly, soft spoken, like it doesn't matter at all, )
I —
( i am human. even...
never mind. )
— ...how many others have you "checked"? Here?
( or elsewhere? why he seeks information, well, it's more natural than divulging anything about "himself" to them. across his neck, under his eyes, and hidden under his gloves and sleeves, the permet yet races like red moon webwork. alight with someone else's luminescence. )
no subject
[ why would they bother someone else when they can play with him, much like a dog whose found the perfect bone in a pile. besides, medicine pocket is lucky as they've come across someone strange, their body just an oddity that hasn't been a subject that's popped up in the foundation.
and for a human to boot. ]
You'll become the base of what I should check for others. That's why I can't let you go.
[ their personal chew toy at best, and hopefully the other doesn't see a problem with it because it's not like they're going to change their mind at all. medicine pocket has decided this for the both of them, and it's why they're glancing at the areas where this weird light flashes at the boy's skin to try and find out why it's doing that. does it stem from the lack of blood, or is it trying to save the body? either way, it's such an interesting detail. ]
Do you belong to anyone?
no subject
and yet. it was ...for a reason. wasn't it?
to create a duplicate, triplicate, or a fourth, erasure of memories is a given.
but what the mind forgets the body sometimes remembers.
do you belong to anyone? medicine pocket asks.
for a split second, 4 closes his eyes and sees a small candle's flame, sees an outstretched hand of a new classmate too kind for this place, sees green eyes he's supposed to also have but sharper and a little deeper and with them the scent of those rare commodities 4 so quietly holds as precious: books.
do you belong to anyone?
well.
his mind settles, calms. in the quiet it takes the shape of one of the many laboratory rooms of peil. a table to be strapped onto, a chair to be secured in. the list goes on.
do you belong to anyone?
yes.
no.when 4 opens his eyes again, his expression looks no different than normal. only the permet wreaking havoc on his weakened body gives anything away. )
You'd have to take it up with Peil Technologies.
( he offers neither yes or no in the end, and tells himself it's not because he doesn't know the real answer himself. at least, as far as he's concerned, that much is true. it is not as though he isn't replaceable though and he leaves that rather significant fact out, very aware his successor waits in the eaves for when 4 inevitably fails, dies due to the permet in his system, or is at some point deemed less than acceptable in his performance as "elan ceres". whichever comes first.
an attempt to stand proves futile. his legs fold beneath him instantly and the landing is jarring. he sighs. )
no subject
[ truth be told, medicine pocket doesn't care much for him as a person, but the body is so interesting them that they need to know. especially with how the other's legs buckle up underneath him, and he falls to the ground, the arcanist laughs as they make their way over to take a proper look at the other's face. ]
You're weak, and I'm a researcher, you have no choice but to rely on me.
[ while medicine pocket isn't a doctor, they find themselves close enough to make this call. it's not like they know what peil technologies is, perhaps that's where they work, but medicine pocket understand that too. they belong to the foundation, it's already rare for them to be able to leave since they never really allow laplace associates to go anywhere.
they're far too important for what they have planned, and without laplace they'd have no way to look into the storm or find a way to control it. ]
How do you feel?
no subject
Less than optimal.
( an honest answer and also useless, as if he is a robot and not a person, however tampered with. removal of memories, rebuilding as someone else, given their history and their future to at least pretend to pursue, it would not be completely out of line to say that's close to what the clones resemble. but their bodies are human, if with greatly shortened lifespans and various other physical pitfalls. though there seems to be a distinct difference between 4,5,6, and especially 7.
well of all of them it's only natural 4 would be the most erroneous. he's a model preceding them all.
research.
still with his legs splayed under him, shoulders slightly slumped, 4 brings a gloved hand to his head. it hurts. a growing pressure. )
no subject
I have all sorts of drugs for that, what's your limit? Or should I learn personally.
[ the latter is more so allowing medicine pocket to do whatever they want, it's hard for them to deny the will to learn. that's why they enjoy being a researcher, it opens valuable paths to explore, and they can't say this person isn't one of them.
a very rare specimen if they might add. a human but with an interesting detail, it's like exploring a disease and unraveling a brand new cancer — is it a threat or is it something easily ignored, either way, it's something that must be cut out. they wonder if they pester them enough can they find some way to harvest this odd part of them.
if it's no dna, surely breeding is out of the question, there's a lot of things medicine pocket has to think about. ]
Unless you want to suffer.
no subject
annoyance flickers through him though it doesn't show on his face.
yet he knows pointing out he signed a contract with peil and not with medicine pocket won't mean much to them.
another minute or two passes before he finally lifts his head again, hand falling emptily to his side. red and white light glitters across his skin, like the body he inhabits might implode like a star if given the chance; maybe one day he will. to siphon the permet from him, well, if 4 could read the other's mind he would tell him he was sure it could be done if only because it was infused into him in the first place. but that was a long process. he has the grim and humorless amused thought: would it kill him faster to remove the thing killing him anyway?
food for thought.
head still throbbing like a caution, he replies with mild softness, as if everything is normal, )
I'm not sure what limit you mean. Or what 'learn personally' means.
( the green of 4's eyes seems, when he shifts the angle of his head slightly, almost lanced with gold. )
no subject
[ the issue here is that medicine pocket makes drugs through their own body— blood, flesh, hair, whatever it is they have, it's being used. this is a talent and a risk that they'll take upon themselves, and since they've drugged up their body so much, it does make them curious if one drug might do the other in.
well, this isn't about them, but rather what's coursing through them. ]
It's like alcohol, you have to stop somewhere unless you don't care about living.
[ and everyone should know their drug limit, or maybe that's just medicine pocket because of what they're willing to do.
can't be helped. ]
I won't kill you, but aren't you interested? If not, then great, luckily this is about what I'm interested in.
no subject
there's the smallest furrow to his brow. )
The way you say it, it seems like you'll do it regardless of what my answer is.
( not quite flat in tone but edging on it, mild. as if 4 couldn't be bothered to care too much about his own well being. at the same time, it could be chalked up to pragmatism. in his current state, argument is suffice to say futile. if medicine pocket kills him it's just a movement across the board sooner than expected, that's all.
well. no.
there's something important he's forgotten, the most important thing in the entirety of what peil technologies removed from him long ago.
reason. reason to survive. reason to succeed where the first 3 clones had not.
but he can't remember, doesn't even know how he came to get himself into this situation or the other.
and then there's his more-or-less creator. there's the books in 4's room. there's afternoons of dance lessons. there's...something.
under his breath, less to medicine pocket than it is to himself,)
...I guess it can't be worse than the permet.
( well. probably. )