This post is William's IC inbox at ataraxion. You can drop network or action stuff that doesn't quite feel like it fits or warrants a post on the main communities in here.
[ Kate comes by in those wee hours, or near enough that the Medbay is quiet when she slips in to track William down. Her hands are gloved, only the edges visible outside the pockets of her purple hoodie. She'd been avoiding it for a while - sweatshirt + sweatpants is just a little too close to some sort of tracksuit deal for her liking and she doesn't currently have a choice about the pants. But the fuzzy interior won out, and she wears it with the hood bunched around her neck for maximum contact, even though the front zipper hangs open. ]
Hey. [ A simple greeting, kind of flat. She's recovering like everyone else but doesn't look great, still too pale and too thin, exhaustion written in every line of her from forehead to forearms. She lifts her hands out of her pockets and lets them hang at her sides. ] How've you been?
Super productive and really fucking bored, [William replies, looking up.] Which makes sense, considering I ain't really sleeping anymore.
[He smiles at her promptly, seems happy to see her even though that is inherently a little weird considering the circumstances. One grows accustomed, working in medical. Pain and panic. Unhappy-looking young women whose livelihoods-- or at least survival-- are in their hands, which aren't working right anymore. William looks a little drawn and thin himself, but not so bad. The disease hadn't been too severe for him, and he has regeneration besides, but the offhand mention of insomnia is a vague admission he's human enough.]
That's not good. But at least productive's something. [ Kate's not at all without sympathy, but productive is something. Something she's obviously feeling she isn't, lately. ] Dreams, or actual insomnia?
[ She takes a seat when he pushes out a chair, arranging her arms across her legs. She separates them to rest each hand on a knee, palms up, fingers curled loosely upwards in a floppy sort of resting pose. ] I haven't taken the gloves off in a couple days [ she admits. ] Last time I did skin started coming off so I just... left it.
Whaaat. [William would have been happy to answer questions about his protodyssomnia and he will in due time, but parting from one's skin is way more interesting than that. His Whaaat doesn't look look terrified, though; surprised and interested, like she'd just invented a methane fart arrow for crowd control.] Did it, fuck. Well, I think the scanner will be able to penetrate the gloves, but it'd be good for me to have a look at your hands without them.
I can cut them off to prevent friction from taking off more of your skin. [He pulls a handheld scanner out from a compartment in his desk, thumbs over the touchscreen. Sets it aside, and then there are a pair of surgical shears, but he doesn't try them yet. Maybe she really likes her gloves. Stuff can feel important.] Was you bleeding when it happened?
[ Kate allows his attention to stay on her, as much as she'd sort of rather talk about his issues that isn't actually why she's here. She doesn't seem especially concerned about the involvement of shears, shaking her head at the question. ] No. They don't bleed anymore. Which I assume is at least part of why they don't seem to be healing.
[ She holds her hands out for him, stilling the momentary fidgety jiggle of a knee. She speaks quickly, words just a little more clipped than is normal. She can't seem to settle on where she wants to be looking, eyes flicking from William to their feet and back. She makes herself watch what he's doing to her hands instead. ] It probably doesn't matter if you just pull them off. I don't think there's anything there that can be saved.
very calm about this. There's a flicker in William's eyes, something like admiration in his face. He acknowledges her reply with a nod, then reaches over.] I'll do that then, and we can congratulate ourselves when it doesn't go tits up or it already was. Tell me if it hurts, [he says. He peels off her right glove first, slowly and carefully despite her reassurance that her hands are a lost cause, his brow knit and eyes attentive. He also says:]
You're thinking about amputation. [It isn't really a question. One must be practical.]
I'm trying to be realistic. [ Calm as she seems, Kate's put this off too long, he'll see when he gets the gloves off. Her hands are really thoroughly dead, as bad as any case they've seen except that it didn't extend past her wrists. But they've clearly been gone for a while and she's just now coming back to him. The wince that sucks in her cheeks for a second is horror, not pain. He could stick the shears through her palm and she'd only know if she were looking. ]
I thought the regular nanites might heal them, but clearly....
Yeah that ain't open for debate at this point, [William agrees, looking at her hands. He touches her knuckles carefully, lifts one. Feels the chill to her flesh. Optimistically, he does go for the scanner, runs the light across her hands. It stutters, flickers-- moreso over her wrists than the inert bag of bones and greying muscle below. He's hoping for signs of life. Any sign of life at all.
He doesn't have high expectations, though. And he's well-trained enough to talk over the automated examination, a dubious distraction.]
I'd like to do two things before we talk about surgical stuff, with your consent, [he tells her.] Try my abilities on them. And check if the nanites is still in your hands at all. Even in the worst case scenario, you sound like you're familiar with some of your options and we've got loads of information on that too. [He looks at her, gives her a minute to calibrate to the gruesome spectacle of the unfamiliar extremities sitting on the ends of her wrists.] What you might not know is you ain't alone. There've been plenty of weird symptoms from the rest of us who's come back from the corridor exploration.
[ It's still surreal, seeing those dead chunks of flesh at the ends of her arms. Kate has to force herself to keep staring at them, reminding herself that yes, those are really her hands. What's left of them. The tight clench of her jaw doesn't really stop the shudder that runs subtly through her. ]
Try anything you want. It's not like I have anything to lose at this point, is it? [ Everything she wants to do right now is impossible. Clench her fists until nails bite into her palms. Rub knuckles into her forehead and between her eyes. Scratch at the scar tissue just below her elbow where Mitchell ripped into her arm. She just sits unnaturally still, letting tension root her to the chair. Only eyebrows shift, lifting marginally. ]
I thought non-recon people had this, too. Sirius has got a dead ear.
Could be that as well, [William agrees. A beat.] Someone should probably see to Sirius' ear, [he adds, brow furrowing, but he makes himself move on. Somebody probably did. He will do it later. Kate's hand thing is pretty serious also.
Again, he isn't weird about touching them. While the presence or absence of nanites would be interesting, intervention is more his bag than anything, so he sets down the scanner and closes his hands gently around the floppy dead fish hunks o' Kate she has on the table for him.] Did it start at the same time as the rest of the symptoms last month? [he asks. He's listening for her answer, but he's concentrating too.
Seeing if his gift can't kindle something in the minute functions of her cells.] Did it stop spreading when the evil robots was taken out?
Up to him. [ That's all she has to say about Sirius. She thinks someone probably should, because it's gross and black, but she only got a glimpse a while back, maybe his healed.
Her nose twitches once as William touches her hands. She still can't feel it, she's just sympathetic to how gross it is, even if he doesn't seem to mind. She glances up at his face as he concentrates, just a little bit curious about his process. ] Yes and yes.
What sort of things are happening to recon people?
should all scans, magic, etc. come back as IT'S DEEEAD JIM
Changes in a few pretty key domains of functioning, [William replies. The answer sounds rote because it is: he's talked about this to a few people now.] In motor, affect, circadian rhythms. Like yours truly. I mean there's worse things than not getting kip, obviously-- I ain't tired. But it does seem like things we was able to do before ain't happening anymore. Started at the beginning of the last cycle.
[There's a lapsing silence.]
If you haven't got anything like that, I'm glad to hear it. I like to think it isn't everybody, [which is probably why the absence of yet more alarming medical PSAs,] and you've got enough shit going on.
p much. same as anybody else who had stage 3 necrosis
[ Not sleeping but never being tired doesn't sound so bad to Kate, actually. She looks William over more carefully than before, for some subtle sign of its wearing on him. ] What happens when you try? Just... nothing?
[ She'd still rather talk about him, or others, what collection of issues he's collected reports of. Motor, affect, and Circadian rhythms don't sound familiar unless you count this thing with her hands, or more mundane sleeping difficulties, but she knows that's not what he's getting at. Weird things that began in that timeframe. If he just stopped there and didn't go asking-without-asking if she's unaffected, if silence didn't mean letting him assume that and giving shoddy data about what's happening to all her fellow teammates.... ]
I think I have something. But it's different, it's not medical.
[The healing isn't taking. William's gift works far slower than many powers of regeneration, but this much he can tell. There's nothing. He might as well be holding a drumstick, cold and clammy and defeathered and separated from its body of origin for some time. Fortunately, he's worked with enough corpses-- when he was actually attending medical school-- not to be overly off-put by this.
Hell.] Yeah. Sometimes my body's a little tired. Like sore feet or your back being funny from standing up too long. But it's like I been taking coffee every few hours-- not sleepy. It's fucking weird. [William smiles at her. Probably 'fucking weird' is negligible in comparison with her present situation, but it might be a little reassuring. He lets go of her hands in a moment, sets then down gently on the table so they don't have to flop around grossly by themselves. He gets a syringe out.]
That is weird. But maybe not bad, exactly. Though I assume it will get bad, because everything here does. [ Kate lets her hands loll on the table, fingers bouncing slightly as they settle, no muscle strength to hold them still after the impact, slight as it is. She looks at the syringe, but doesn't protest.
She does hesitate at his question. Her lips purse like she's considering, the words an unpleasant taste in her mouth. They come out reluctant but firm. ] If I tell you it needs to stay confidential. Like completely one hundred percent between us.
[It seems both weird to stop in the middle of collecting a sample for important disclosures, but also weird to not stop, considering she won't feel a thing and probably doesn't want to think about that and almost certainly shouldn't watch. Wavering for an instant, William remembers she sort of blanketly gave consent moments ago anyway. Sticks her in between her right ring and middle fingers, as inobtrusive as you can do something like that, and says at the same time:]
Of course. I been trying to protect privacy about everybody's symptoms, no identifiers, no specifics. If you want to be left out of even that, I understand and will do.
[ Kate wants to flinch, but she feels nothing as the needle sinks into her hand. She watches for a moment, and then lifts her eyes to William. ] I want to be left out of that. If it becomes necessary at some point, important to understanding what's going on, then maybe. But for now, one hundred percent confidential.
[ She fixes him with a serious look for a long moment, and then whether he accedes under her attention or stays quiet, she assumes from what he's already said that he's agreed to it. She looks back to her hand, the needle sticking out between her fingers. ]
I can't lie about certain things. If someone asks me a question and I try to lie, I physically can't do it. It's not guilt or that I'm bad at it, the words just don't come out no matter how hard I try. I haven't figured out all the specific parameters but it definitely started at that same time.
Fuuuck. [William looks at once intrigued and concerned.] Well, I'd.
I'd call that a behavioral compulsion. But it does sound pretty fucking impossible to box up in normal terminology. [The syringe makes short work of sample collection, and he removes it with a quick, clinical shift of his wrist. Caps the needle again and then, a little ridiculously, finds a small round band-aid to press over the hole on her greying corpse-hand.]
I'll let you know if we break ground toward a cure, yeah? [He looks at her, steady. No false reassurances. It is what it is.]
Yeah. [ Kate's agreement flat, but her everything is kind of flat right now. Understandably. At least the bandaid draws a quirk of brows and mouth, not quite a smile but a sort of amusement. Cute, William. She looks up and glances to her hands and then back to him somewhat pointedly. ]
For those, or for the other thing? [ She says those like are you serious?. But she looks equally skeptical either way. ]
The other thing, [William says. He doesn't sound very starry-eyed about his optimism, but it probably is that. Talk of cures aboard the Tranquility, it's adorable really-- but at least they extracted a lot of small evil nanites. That was something.]
These--
[He doesn't touch them again but the urge is there, a normal gesture that would have been normal if they were't flopping around fishily, limp on the ends of her wrists.] Artificial prostheses with various modular options, or cloned replicas of your originals. As you prefer, love.
[ Again Kate nods. ] Yeah. I've heard. [ She ducks her head to scratch her forehead against her shoulder and then jerks her chin back up in a question. ] What sort of "modular options"? [ She sounds skeptical, wary, kind of curious. It's not the most positive tone but it's a tone, so that's something. Right? ]
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private text; Seraph lock, 80% encryption
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action?
Hey. [ A simple greeting, kind of flat. She's recovering like everyone else but doesn't look great, still too pale and too thin, exhaustion written in every line of her from forehead to forearms. She lifts her hands out of her pockets and lets them hang at her sides. ] How've you been?
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[He smiles at her promptly, seems happy to see her even though that is inherently a little weird considering the circumstances. One grows accustomed, working in medical. Pain and panic. Unhappy-looking young women whose livelihoods-- or at least survival-- are in their hands, which aren't working right anymore. William looks a little drawn and thin himself, but not so bad. The disease hadn't been too severe for him, and he has regeneration besides, but the offhand mention of insomnia is a vague admission he's human enough.]
Have a seat. [He pushes a chair out for her.]
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[ She takes a seat when he pushes out a chair, arranging her arms across her legs. She separates them to rest each hand on a knee, palms up, fingers curled loosely upwards in a floppy sort of resting pose. ] I haven't taken the gloves off in a couple days [ she admits. ] Last time I did skin started coming off so I just... left it.
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I can cut them off to prevent friction from taking off more of your skin. [He pulls a handheld scanner out from a compartment in his desk, thumbs over the touchscreen. Sets it aside, and then there are a pair of surgical shears, but he doesn't try them yet. Maybe she really likes her gloves. Stuff can feel important.] Was you bleeding when it happened?
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[ She holds her hands out for him, stilling the momentary fidgety jiggle of a knee. She speaks quickly, words just a little more clipped than is normal. She can't seem to settle on where she wants to be looking, eyes flicking from William to their feet and back. She makes herself watch what he's doing to her hands instead. ] It probably doesn't matter if you just pull them off. I don't think there's anything there that can be saved.
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very calm about this. There's a flicker in William's eyes, something like admiration in his face. He acknowledges her reply with a nod, then reaches over.] I'll do that then, and we can congratulate ourselves when it doesn't go tits up or it already was. Tell me if it hurts, [he says. He peels off her right glove first, slowly and carefully despite her reassurance that her hands are a lost cause, his brow knit and eyes attentive. He also says:]
You're thinking about amputation. [It isn't really a question. One must be practical.]
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I thought the regular nanites might heal them, but clearly....
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He doesn't have high expectations, though. And he's well-trained enough to talk over the automated examination, a dubious distraction.]
I'd like to do two things before we talk about surgical stuff, with your consent, [he tells her.] Try my abilities on them. And check if the nanites is still in your hands at all. Even in the worst case scenario, you sound like you're familiar with some of your options and we've got loads of information on that too. [He looks at her, gives her a minute to calibrate to the gruesome spectacle of the unfamiliar extremities sitting on the ends of her wrists.] What you might not know is you ain't alone. There've been plenty of weird symptoms from the rest of us who's come back from the corridor exploration.
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Try anything you want. It's not like I have anything to lose at this point, is it? [ Everything she wants to do right now is impossible. Clench her fists until nails bite into her palms. Rub knuckles into her forehead and between her eyes. Scratch at the scar tissue just below her elbow where Mitchell ripped into her arm. She just sits unnaturally still, letting tension root her to the chair. Only eyebrows shift, lifting marginally. ]
I thought non-recon people had this, too. Sirius has got a dead ear.
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Again, he isn't weird about touching them. While the presence or absence of nanites would be interesting, intervention is more his bag than anything, so he sets down the scanner and closes his hands gently around the floppy dead fish hunks o' Kate she has on the table for him.] Did it start at the same time as the rest of the symptoms last month? [he asks. He's listening for her answer, but he's concentrating too.
Seeing if his gift can't kindle something in the minute functions of her cells.] Did it stop spreading when the evil robots was taken out?
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Her nose twitches once as William touches her hands. She still can't feel it, she's just sympathetic to how gross it is, even if he doesn't seem to mind. She glances up at his face as he concentrates, just a little bit curious about his process. ] Yes and yes.
What sort of things are happening to recon people?
should all scans, magic, etc. come back as IT'S DEEEAD JIM
[There's a lapsing silence.]
If you haven't got anything like that, I'm glad to hear it. I like to think it isn't everybody, [which is probably why the absence of yet more alarming medical PSAs,] and you've got enough shit going on.
p much. same as anybody else who had stage 3 necrosis
[ She'd still rather talk about him, or others, what collection of issues he's collected reports of. Motor, affect, and Circadian rhythms don't sound familiar unless you count this thing with her hands, or more mundane sleeping difficulties, but she knows that's not what he's getting at. Weird things that began in that timeframe. If he just stopped there and didn't go asking-without-asking if she's unaffected, if silence didn't mean letting him assume that and giving shoddy data about what's happening to all her fellow teammates.... ]
I think I have something. But it's different, it's not medical.
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Hell.] Yeah. Sometimes my body's a little tired. Like sore feet or your back being funny from standing up too long. But it's like I been taking coffee every few hours-- not sleepy. It's fucking weird. [William smiles at her. Probably 'fucking weird' is negligible in comparison with her present situation, but it might be a little reassuring. He lets go of her hands in a moment, sets then down gently on the table so they don't have to flop around grossly by themselves. He gets a syringe out.]
What've you had then?
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She does hesitate at his question. Her lips purse like she's considering, the words an unpleasant taste in her mouth. They come out reluctant but firm. ] If I tell you it needs to stay confidential. Like completely one hundred percent between us.
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Of course. I been trying to protect privacy about everybody's symptoms, no identifiers, no specifics. If you want to be left out of even that, I understand and will do.
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[ She fixes him with a serious look for a long moment, and then whether he accedes under her attention or stays quiet, she assumes from what he's already said that he's agreed to it. She looks back to her hand, the needle sticking out between her fingers. ]
I can't lie about certain things. If someone asks me a question and I try to lie, I physically can't do it. It's not guilt or that I'm bad at it, the words just don't come out no matter how hard I try. I haven't figured out all the specific parameters but it definitely started at that same time.
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I'd call that a behavioral compulsion. But it does sound pretty fucking impossible to box up in normal terminology. [The syringe makes short work of sample collection, and he removes it with a quick, clinical shift of his wrist. Caps the needle again and then, a little ridiculously, finds a small round band-aid to press over the hole on her greying corpse-hand.]
I'll let you know if we break ground toward a cure, yeah? [He looks at her, steady. No false reassurances. It is what it is.]
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For those, or for the other thing? [ She says those like are you serious?. But she looks equally skeptical either way. ]
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These--
[He doesn't touch them again but the urge is there, a normal gesture that would have been normal if they were't flopping around fishily, limp on the ends of her wrists.] Artificial prostheses with various modular options, or cloned replicas of your originals. As you prefer, love.
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AM I 4THWALLING?? pretend i didnt if anyone asks