networkinthenight | [text] @doctorsin [open]

We are. Just, make your way to the Church instead.

( this one is going to be a handful, he can already tell.

gently, )

We'll do our best. An' if not us, there are people here who are healers we can steer you towards.

I already know people that can do that kind of thing.

[ Because there are at least three that could cast a Cura if he had any kind of physical wound, and he's already tried using his own Unversed to no avail.

So that leaves him here, asking some stranger because Vanitas is too proud to go to any of those familiar faces with a question.

Instead of walking to the church like a normal human being, however, he abruptly just appears, stepping out of an inky black portal and into the dimly lit chapel with his tablet still in his hand. Vanitas is as dark as the shadows, and if his face weren't so pale, and his eyes so inhumanly bright, he might fade away into them completely.

Since there aren't many people around, it's not difficult to find who he assumes he'd been talking to before. He demands, in a voice that's not a shout but certainly not the sort of hushed reverence normally reserved for this kind of holy place; ]

Are you the doctor?

( he's seen things since comin' here, since dyin' that've made that teleportin' just this side of normal. it still unsettles him some, an' he's glad of the fact he gave wade his gun to watch his back for this encounter.

it ain't that he's expectin' a fight. it's that the fella's unspoken or else put him just enough on edge that he willfully acknowledged there was some manner of conflict on the horizon, an' as a medic he ain't about to take any chances with his life. the folk here in beacon need he and wade fightin' fit if they're to survive whatever else their undeath may throw at 'em, an' he ain't going to apologize for bein' cautious. after all, he's newly come from war.

he still does nod some at the (boy?) fella, an' his body language is mighty closed when he speaks. )

I am. What can I do for ya?

[ Vanitas is a teenager— or he appears that way, at least, beyond the hard look in his eyes. He'd been born, fully formed, ready for war— he's done nothing but fight from the moment he'd been torn from his other half's heart. Not a soldier, but a weapon— but anyone with an eye will see it's there in the way he walks. Evenly balanced, shoulders square and arms loose at his sides. He watches the doctor like he's either ready to defend or on the edge of attack.

What's less obvious, at first glance, is the humiliation he feels at being in this situation. It translates into agitation, which makes his tone almost accusatory when he stares the older man down, stopped more than an arm's length away from him. It's only when he needs to start explaining that his shoulders start to climb, betraying some of his embarrassment. ]

I haven't been hit, but my head hurts. And my stomach.

( both are ailments that can have any number of causes. gene works his jaw off to one side in pure speculation, an' then he gestures vanitas to take a seat on one of the chairs he an' wade've dragged in. diagnosis is always the trickiest part when there ain't some mechanism of trauma or hurt.

it's maybe against his better judgement that he'll sit down first. some folk get riled up the more you stand on equal footin' to them, an' lowerin' yourself is a way to remove that factor in conversation. he don't much like it. this boy fair radiates an energy he's come to know all too well in war, but sometimes you just gotta take things on a little faith. )

You been eatin' an' drinkin' all right?

[ Vanitas doesn't move until this man sits down himself, bringing them closer to eye-level than they would be if Vanitas had drawn close while the doctor was standing. He draws near enough to touch, but Vanitas doesn't sit down.

Eating and drinking. Vanitas's expression flickers, his brow drawing close together in obvious confusion. Just by the sheer nature of what he is, eating or drinking had never been a necessity. He subsisted off of the cycle of pain his Unversed brought back into him, off darkness itself. ]

Why would I do that?

( he's been confronted with all manner of things. melisandre rarely seems to eat, so maybe it don't evoke as much confusion as it might've a week ago. maybe the boy's like that girl, kara. a machine? it seems rude to ask him if he ain't never done it before, so instead gene just regards him thoughtfully.

he ain't got a clue if it'll wind up bein' just that simple, but it's the first real bit of concrete information he's gotten outta the boy so he'll chase it down the rabbit hole. )

Well... it's a way to keep your strength up. I don't think this place, Beacon, I, uh, don't think it plays by the same rules you may've been used to back home. Here.

( he's got his canteen on his belt, and he pulls it out. unscrews the cap and takes a drink himself (not poisoned, see?) before holding it out. )

Go on.

[ Vanitas raises his chin, watching the doctor narrowly— the skepticism and distrust written between the lines of all his confusion. He's known, after all, something is wrong with this place the entire time. He can't feel this pervasive Darkness the way he should, and his own doesn't work the way it's meant to, like something has wrapped around the well in him and throttled it.

The canteen extends between them and hangs there long enough that it seems like Vanitas might not take it at all. Then he takes the half step forward required and snatches it out of the doctor's hand and tips it back in one quick movement.

It's unlike anything he's ever experienced: water touches his tongue and floods him with sensation and his body reacts viscerally. What begins as a sip turns into Vanitas tilting the canteen back with a sudden desperation to chase out the dehydration, spilling water over himself in the process but blind to the sensation against the violent thirst. ]

( his reaction is an immediate thing, he grimaces an' then he steps in, puts his hand on the boy's shoulder an' with his other reaches to his elbow to try an' forcibly lower his hand. )

Hey, now. Easy. Not all at once, especially if it's been a while. ( 'ever'??? ) You'll make yourself sick an' just throw it all back up. Little sips.

[ The touch is enough to pull him out of it. Vanitas jerks violently away, wrenching his arm out of the doctor's grip and ducking out from the reach of his hand like he's defending an attack. The combined tangle of the doctor trying to lower the canteen, and Vanitas' mid-drink defensive response, makes him spill what little is left in the canteen down his front.

Unfortunately the damage is already done. It's been days since Vanitas arrived, and he's never put anything in his body before— he drops the canteen and, just as predicted, it comes right back up in a single violent heave. Shaking, Vanitas grabs the back of the chair to stop himself from hitting the floor and gasps hard. ]

( well, that sure is a thing that happened.

gene bends to pick up the canteen, gives wade a hard look where he's lurking off in the corner, and then steps in close. for all that the boy's reacted somewhat adversely to touch, he tries again, this time setting a hand against the small of his back. )

S'all right. Just worry about breathin'. Steady, now. Probably should'a warned you first.

( an' lord knows he would'a, if the boy'd looked any manner of emaciated or sickly from dehydration. his mistake was in not realizin' that it was entirely possible someone had never needed water before. not one he'll make again. )

[ It's not the first time he's had something come up in this fashion, but it definitely doesn't feel anything like the Unversed. That isn't what makes him flinch so much as the hand on his low spine— the last time someone touched him there it had been a boot turning him over. He's never had someone try to comfort him through anything in his life, and as such, doesn't understand what this guy is trying to do.

With a wheeze, Vanitas staggers away again, putting the chair between himself and the doctor. He presses his hand to his belly, the cramp in it worse now, compounded with the raw feeling in his throat. ]

What'd you do to me?

[ He sounds angry, but there's something like fear in his eyes. ]

( lord, this is beyond his purview. gene, mindful of body language, holds his hands up an' just approaches him, calm an' careful. )

I didn't do anything to you, fella. But everyone's adjustin' to this place in different ways, an' if you ain't never had water or food before comin' here it could be that your body just ain't used to processing it. C'mon, siddown. You, ah, threw most of it up so you should be over the worst of it.

[ For all his knee-jerk reaction, what the doctor says makes logical sense, and slowly some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.

Still, Vanitas hesitates, catching his breath and looking for all the world like he might still bolt. Only when it's clear the man isn't going to make another grab for him does he stiffly make his way for the chair. He doesn't really sit so much as perch on the edge of it, like he's ready to jump up at any moment. ]

Explain.

( he takes a seat on one of the other chairs, distant enough he won't spook the kid outright. tugs his pants a bit up at mid-thigh before he sits just outta habit. then, with one hand on his knee, )

Well, uh. Mortal bodies need some manner of sustenance to stay functional. Food an' drink, in my case. Maybe some others have different requirements, but mostly for humans it's food an' drink. When you neglect that, it can start havin' averse effects on your health. Poor concentration, weakness, this awful feelin' in the pit of your stomach, headaches, fatigue an' eventually it'll have more serious impacts the longer you go without. Can also affect memory, mood an' the like as well.

( lotta souls came to that knowledge in the depression, but it's a thing he puts away. )

If you wanna maintain your body, you gotta tend its needs. So, eatin' a few times a day — good quality stuff, not just sugar an' garbage — an' keep your fluid intake up. But you gotta do it slow, else you'll run into these same problems on down the line.

( he has a pack of crackers from one of the k-rations he'd brought along, an' he tosses the pack in an easy underhand at the kid after makin' sure his intent was plain. )

Eat a couple of those — slowly — an' I'll get you another bit of water to tide you over.

[ It explains the pain, at least— why it had been increasing with no cause that Vanitas could pick out. His eyes cut away eventually, going to the liminal space between them as he tries to categorize this new radical change to his existence. Was it just this world that did this to him? Maybe the question is moot: it's not like he'll ever have the chance to find out otherwise.

The packet flies at him but years spent being alert to anything launched in his general direction make him snatch it from the air without fumbling. Another man had made this same suggestion, before, in the general store, though Vanitas had shrugged him off. It's embarrassing, that he'd been right. ]

I thought death was supposed to be easy.

[ Quiet, and dark, and warm. He scowls, but at least for the moment, it seems he isn't going to lash out again. Actually, with his attention diverted to opening the crackers, he almost looks like he's sulking.]

( somethin' eases in his chest at the shift in demeanour. he's worlds better at dealin' with a sulky child than he is some fella fixin' to eviscerate him as soon as look at him, though he manages all right with both.

he just clasps his hands in the space between his knees, leanin' forward so's his shoulders hunch. )

Well, this ain't like no manner of death I've ever seen. I can't speak to what it's been like for other folks, but it's plenty strange for you an' I both an' everyone in between the two'a us.

How do you know? Have you died before?

[ Vanitas glances quickly up at him without raising his chin, sharp and accusatory through his thick eyelashes, before he refocuses on pulling a cracker out and bites through it. Like the water, it kickstarts the hunger, salt spreading out all over his tastebuds. It's only remembering what happened a moment ago that stops him putting the whole thing in his mouth. ]

Just the once that landed me here. But servin' in the capacity I do, I saw a lotta other folks pass on.

( many beneath his hands. he shakes his head to punctuate his statement, then gets up an' goes to refill the canteen from a bucket he an' wade hauled over the other day. when he returns it's with that an' a mop bucket. the canteen he offers back to vanitas. )

Careful, this time. Use it to wash the crackers down, Lord knows they're hard enough as it is.

( an' while he does that, gene troubles himself to clean up the mess on the floor. it's more water than vomit, but the acrid smell of stomach acid is still in the air an' he'd sooner not leave it for later. he mops up the mess an' then leaves the bucket at the end of the pews so he can wash it out later. )

[ If they're unpalatable, Vanitas doesn't have the faintest idea of what would make them that way. They break on his teeth and the crunch is a far cry different from the crack of his jaw rattling together, or the grainy texture of sand on his tongue and caught in his cheeks. He doesn't actually say anything for a while, tracking Gene with his eyes, watching him clean up the mess without looking either apologetic or as though he's going to help.

But he isn't an idiot, so he does take it slow with the water the second time around, and only chances it once he's gone through three crackers and starting to feel— well, he doesn't know. Different. When his mouth is clear again, he says haughtily: ]

Well I have, and it wasn't anything like this.

( he raises an eyebrow to that admission. oddly, it don't surprise him much. you learn to look for trauma in little places in the hush an' quiet of a soul. an' this place is already so far beyond whatever reckonin' he might've once assumed of purgatory that he ain't about to question it. what's the benefit to lyin'?

even if he is, it says hell an' gone more about someone willin' to lie about the subject than it does about someone willin' to believe it. gene takes his seat back near the boy, an' tips his head towards him. )

Well, even then I reckon there's no guarantee that it'd be the same each time.

( to say nothin' of the bodies he's seen, red in the surf at gela or littered through the ardennes near st vith, he's also seen as many ghosts as there are trees in europe. deaths can be similar, but ain't no two the same in every respect. )

What were your other ones like? If'n you don't mind the askin'.

( now that the boy's choked down a sufficient amount of the crackers, gene takes out the last of his k-rat chocolate bars, breakin' off a piece to hold across the space between them. the sugar'll help, and the crackers will ensure it don't get absorbed too quick in his blood. )

[ It's not something to brag about, exactly, but the fact that Vanitas has information— or at least some kind of previous experience in this arena makes him feel like he has an edge over other people. That said, he's never really sat and ruminated on his death. What it felt like to be something, and then fly apart, and be nothing.

Vanitas tracks Gene's face without blinking as he considers it, and then considers if he feels like answering the question or not. Finally, he reaches out to take the bar of chocolate, but doesn't eat it just yet. ]

Like sleeping.

( he doubts that's the whole of it, but the man won't press on none. some things, perhaps, are better left unsaid. he just sits back an' lets the boy decide what to do about that chocolate bar.

soft,)

Hope you found it a peaceable thing.

( before comin' here, obviously. )

[ Vanitas snorts and rolls his eyes. ]

Peace.

[ He scoffs it like the very idea was utterly absurd, and it's more a reflection of this derisiveness than actual interest in what he's about to put in his mouth that has Vanitas finally pop the piece of chocolate.

He freezes, because like the water, the sensation is startling for how huge it is. It's nothing like the water or the crackers, and he stares across at Gene as if he's shocked to be poisoned. Where Vanitas doesn't chew, it just melts across his tongue, spreading a silky sweetness until he finally bites through the little block. The flavor intensifies, and the resulting tingle that shoots up into the base of his skull makes a shiver shoot down his spine. Vanitas raises his hand to his mouth, like a reflex, like he isn't sure if he should spit what's left of the chocolate out— but it just kind of hovers there.

It's probably the first honest, bewildered emotion he's showed since his arrival. ]

( goin' across europe like they did, they ran into a fair few souls who ain't never tried chocolate. their reactions rarely differ — ain't a man-jack among 'em who seems to dislike it. gene just sort of watches him with a bit of amusement turnin' up one corner of his mouth, soft an' fondly amused. )

Good stuff, ain't it?

[text] @doctorsin [open]

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cw vomit mention!!

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