[ —39 year old male with severe wounds to the head and suspected internal bleeding en route from emergency landing. Patient is showing convulsions and severe hematemesis. BP 70 over 50 and rising. Pulse 120. ETA 15 minutes. — Copy. OR on standby. Blood type? — Unknown. — Copy. Pulling 5 units of O-.
Vasily reflexively grabs the edge of the stretcher to stabilize it as another pothole throws his body into the unyielding brace of the five-point harness that straps him into his seat beside the patient. 15 minutes. The cosmounaut's breathing, barely, wet jerky inhalations that crackle with his own blood—he may be DOA, though at least he doesn't seem to be conscious. It's Konstantin Veshnyakov, he'd realized when they took off the shards of the helmet to brace his spine with a cervical collar—the face is recognizable from the papers, even smeared with dark blood. It's almost unbelievable that his training should take him into a place this remote at the same time as a Hero of the Soviet Union descends from space, let alone that they should meet in the back of an ambulance—but that's as far as the thought gets him, at least while he's focused on making sure that man doesn't die.
The transfer once they pull into the carport of the Emergency Room is fast; as he hops out of the back of the ambulance and the driver trots around the side of it to help him unload their patient, they're greeted by a cluster of military men, some of them identifiably members of high command.
The trauma surgeons waiting for them at the loading dock don't seem to care. They muscle past, joining the two of them in lowering the stretcher and unlocking its wheels; his hands stay on the side rails as he and his partner and the three surgeons who came out to meet them rush the gurney down the hall to the operating room. They admit him, and for a moment he and Pavel stand staring at the twin doors without exchanging words, processing.
Pravda won't announce his death immediately if they lose him on the operating table—the only way to know when it happens is to stay. Vasiliy glances up at the wall clock—his shift is over in fifteen minutes, anyway. He excuses himself, bids Pavel goodnight, sits down on one of the chairs in the small waiting room outside of the OR and leans back, arms folded across his chest, closing his eyes as he drifts into shallow upright sleep to the sound of a woman's soft weeping a few chairs over.
The surgery and transfusion only last some three hours, judging by the position of the clock on the wall when the blue-gray double doors to the OR swing open and rouse him from his tenuous slumber; maybe Veshnyakov wasn't as bad-off as he had looked in the welter of his gore. Vasiliy gets up, jaw hinging with a yawn, and picks up the pace to walk astride one of the nurses. ]
How is he?
[ He lost a lot of blood but he'll pull through, he's told. It almost seemed like he was already recovering on the table. Vasiliy breathes a sigh of relief.
The nurses take Veshnyakov to a suite, one of the best rooms in the hospital, and get him hooked up to the requisite components of life support. A dextrose solution and plasma hang from the IV pole beside the bed; they run an oxygen line under his nose and hook it behind his ears. A few last checks, an injection of painkillers into the line, and they leave; he assures them he'll keep an eye on the man, though the guards posted at the door a few minutes after he entered seem to have similar at mind.
After the door shuts Vasiliy steps closer to the bed, cautious, as though his breathing might wake the man. He's almost unreal, his perfection in sharp contrast to the tangibility and mass of his body—even with every muscle in his face relaxed, he's handsome in a Yuri Gagarin sort of way, like someone brought a state poster to life. Real people don't look like that. He wonders what he'd look like, smiling for reporters after a successful landing.
None of the nurses even wiped the blood from around his mouth. A state hero deserves better treatment than that, for all he's done. Vasiliy walks to the bathroom and grabs a washcloth, wets it with warm water, carefully dabs away the crusted blood from his chin and lower lip before he returns to his chair. Veshnyakov deserves at least that much, getting mutilated for the good of his country.
He stays up for a little while longer, studying the rise and fall of the cosmonaut's chest, counting his respirations by second nature. At some point around 1 AM he feels satisfied enough that the man will pull through and leans back in the chair, legs stretched out, falling back asleep with practiced ease.
Vasiliy misses it, of course, when a few hours later the creature emerges in the darkness, studying him intently with eight eyes, watching his jugular vein, smelling him. More interest than a sick man would get, but not enough to mark him as viable prey. ]
[ There is something inside of Konstantin Veshnyakov.
He returns from the black void of space to breathe in this planet's familiar air — the air of his home, no matter how much he's run from it — and something else finds itself on a strange new world in return. They've swapped places, the alien and the cosmonaut. Now the entity, that nameless thing with its soft wet body, is the stranger in a world where it must stay in the safety of a suit. Now it's the one that can't exist without protection.
So many things happen around it now, so many strange things — commotion and voices and vibrations. Its host body is being moved and manipulated, connected to things, monitored by things. It doesn't understand. It stays hidden in the warm safety of a man's body, curling in on itself.
But it's hungry, so new and so hungry. It's a peculiar thing, led by cold instinct like an insect and yet capable of a deep intelligence; already it is learning. It's fed from a human, right after the crash. And now it knows it can feed from these beings, the ones that walk on two legs and have two big eyes and bleed so easily.
The space around it become calm and quiet again. There is only one human left nearby, now. The creature senses the movement as the human nears its host's mouth — it tenses, readying itself, hungry. But not just yet. Not until night is yawning open into early morning, and the other human being in the room goes still.
Then it comes. Up and out, slithering its way from a throat that convulses violently around it. Its host's body both resists and encourages its forced exit, its girth spreading even as it's still leaving him, and when it's coiled and dripping on the floor of the hospital room, it takes a moment to try and understand its surroundings — as much as it's capable of. Everything outside of the man's body is cold, hard, and strange against its soft, sensitive body.
Its cluster of small black eyes glitters as it turns its strange hooded head to face the human being sitting in the chair nearby. Excited, the creature chitters softly with its wet clicking sounds, making its way closer, rising up on itself like a snake. It takes in the movement of his chest, the flutter of vein beneath skin; its body shudders with awareness, and want.
......Something's strange. Wrong. The human being is... two things (or is it nothing?) some paradoxical, impossible state. An imitation of life? ....No. Not alive, not dead — like preserved flesh. Unappetising, and the creature recoils, its little round suction mouth twitching with displeasure, moisture dripping from beneath its row of sharp teeth. There's nothing to be gained from cracking through this human being's skull and worming its mouth into the soft flesh of his brain, tearing and snapping. It doesn't want to taste what's inside of him. What's inside of him is... wrong.
But it's still hungry. It slithers past the man, looking up towards the closed door. There are other humans out there, but... it can't get through the barrier. And it knows not to try to call too much attention to itself; it should wait for another opportunity to feed. So it returns to its limp and unmoving host, pushing past his lips and forcing its way back down into the safety of his belly.
Everything is still again. Konstantin sleeps, still passed out from the seizure the creature induced in him. For the moment, mercifully, he knows nothing. But a few hours later, when his eyelashes flutter and he's gazing groggily up at the ceiling, head pounding and throat slick with nausea, memory begins to flash behind his eyes as though he's absorbing it from someone else. As though he's only a visitor in his own mind — no, no, he's not the visitor. The thing is. The thing.... Horror and panic have him suddenly moving, trying to get up — grasping at the oxygen line connected to his face, uncomfortably aware of the pull against his arm, tethered to an IV. He's giving a cry out loud, chest heaving; he's trapped. (Not so far deep down, he's aware he's trapped in a room with something that, on some level, doesn't register as human. At least, not the right way. Not the way any human should feel.) ]
[ The man's yell jolts Vasiliy from his light slumber; within seconds he's at the bedside of the frantic cosmonaut, wrapping a hand around the sturdy wrist of the one pulling at the oxygen line. Sometimes this happens, he knows; sometimes patients come out of sedation and thrash, panicking as they orient themselves to the sudden change in environment. If he lost consciousness upon impact—it's hard to see how he wouldn't—he's gone from the endless blackness of the open steppes at night to confinement in a hospital room in an instant with no explanation. ]
Commander. Commander Veshnyakov. It's alright. You're alright. You're in the hospital. You had a crash landing and you were in surgery. It's okay. You're alright.
[ He speaks quickly but not frantically, keeping his tone level and confident to avoid adding to the hysteria of the moment—a practiced pattern he finds himself able to fall into even, it would seem, in the presence of a Hero of the Soviet Union. ]
[ It isn't like him to panic. To lose control of himself, his emotions, his thinking. Who and what he is... is always supposed to be in control of those things. He is a model, an example, carefully-maintained and proud; he is a—
'Commander'. Though the presence of the other man suddenly drawing nearer makes Konstantin's heart pound with a painful surge of adrenaline, that word spoken aloud catches hold of the cosmonaut even in the frantic pulse of this confused moment. He stares widely at the other man, listening to the words. An explanation, and one that makes sense, even as his mind is so desperately struggling to accept any of this as true.
'It's okay. You're alright.'
His mouth tips open to try and form some reply, but the smell and taste of blood is abruptly assaulting his senses, wet and coppery and aching. It comes up from the depths of himself, things bleeding from within, body fighting against its unwanted occupant. He gags, and dark wet bubbles up from his lips, which he sputters against, fingers tightening into the sterile white sheets beneath himself. ]
[ More hematemesis. Vasiliy's chest aches with sympathy as he lets go of the man's wrist in exchange for a gentle hold on his upper arm, briskly but carefully pulling him forward so he doesn't choke on his own bloody vomit after making it through an atmospheric re-entry and crash landing. He reaches for the dusky pink emesis basin on the side table and holds it over the white sheets with his free hand, reluctant to break contact until the man calms a little bit.
The blood that spatters down into the basin with every new retch is dark, not particularly oxygenated; that, at least, is a good sign, or perhaps more aptly the better of the two possibilities. ]
Easy. Slow breaths through your nose. [ The same thing he'd say to a civilian patient. ] You have internal bleeding from your crash. Blood is maybe still coming up. You're okay. I will get the doctor soon.
[ Konstantin lets himself be pulled forward, even as something in him flinches — muscles tight and rippling as though in quiet revolt of the gesture. Everything's wrong on the outside and on the inside, and despite the grueling and rewarding years of his extensive mental training, his body and mind feel under attack from both directions. (Inside, something is coiling tight and slick; the thing is restless. Outside, something that may only be an imitation of a man holds onto his arm and tells him to breathe.)
But he does. Breathes slowly, in through his nose like the stranger says. There are a couple of sporadic convulsions, spasms that rack through his frame and cause him to spit up blood, but they begin to die down, and he's left shuddering, leaned over.
Weakly, he closes his eyes, tries to find ground within himself. Make sense of what he can. When he opens them again, his chest isn't heaving on the cusp of panic, though he continues to shudder softly. ]
My co-pilot. Comrade Averchenko. Is he..... dead? Do you know? [ His voice is hoarse, and wet from blood. He isn't looking the man in the eyes, not just yet. For more than one reason, he has to avoid that for a little longer. ]
He was brought in critical condition in the other ambulance. The doctor can probably tell you more when he comes, but he was alive when he came into the operating room.
[ Vasiliy has the feeling he already knows the answer, having seen the man's brain glistening in the open air, but he doesn't share that piece of information, not when his patient is only just starting to calm down. Comrade Veshnyakov is in a fragile, tenuous state, still hovering on the edge of the panic attack he just came out of. He's not ready to hear that Averchenko is likely dead, not yet, though Vasiliy does at least withdraw the gentle touch of the hand on the cosmonaut's upper arm as he begins to catch his breath. ]
[ The information is there inside of him, like the remnants of a nightmare just after you wake up, sweat glistening at your brow, throat and eyes tight. He wants to wake up from his nightmares, wants all of the horrible things that should not be, to vanish. He knows Averchenko is probably dead, and it hurts the way few things ever have before. He was responsible for that man. He was responsible for everything.
Konstantin feels the careful touch at his arm retract, and there's some small, human moment he can't quite control where he longs for that contact again — a counter to the horror of the impossible knowledge he has of this man. Slowly, the cosmonaut looks up to him, finally taking in the stranger's face. A younger man than himself, noticeably so; Konstantin is nearing forty and there are good-natured wrinkles at the edges of his eyes, and grey at his temples. Charming features, he's been told. He can be trusted. ]
...Not too much, [ he replies, although it's because he's used to downplaying his own discomforts, to the point of pretending he doesn't have them at all. He swallows with a soft sound against the copper taste still lingering in his mouth, and licks his lips to clear the remaining blood.
He hesitates. Should he... reveal it? Beg for help? He's in a hospital now, he needs the thing out— ...or maybe there is no thing at all. Maybe he's lost his fucking mind.
Another thought comes in, fights against everything. He won't be allowed to retrieve his son if he's perceived to be insane, if he has some kind of meltdown. And his public image.... which may already become tarnished once he recovers the boy... He can't risk losing more than what he inevitably has. ]
Mostly dizzy. [ Konstantin's dark eyes flit to the chair in the room, and then stay there. Through something else's memory, he recalls the peculiar sensation of this man, but his own human senses struggle to translate it from the creature's enhanced ones. He does not like the way he involuntarily thinks about it in terms of taste, and tries to block out the feeling. ]
[ It's Vasiliy's turn to break eye contact, his own equally dark irises flitting to the side, as though he has anything to apologize for. Now that the man's regaining his bearings, he's clearly realizing that there's not really a logical explanation for why an EMT should be in one hospital room all night, at least not one that falls within the prescribed duties of Vasiliy's position. The reality's not particularly surprising, or at least he assumes it wouldn't be to someone like Veshnyakov.
He wanted to meet a Hero of the Soviet Union. A real cosmonaut, someone who went to the beyond and came back alive... even if only barely. And he was worried—it didn't sit well with him that someone who had given so much to his country should just be left unattended like any other patient. ]
Yes. My shift was over and they're short-staffed. I had nowhere else to be so I said I'd watch you.
[ He says it as though he was asked to, or as though in a more general sense it was brought up that someone should. In reality, he'd volunteered, but that's neither here nor there. ]
[ Once again, Konstantin finds himself torn on just how much to share. It's important to give the facts, but it's equally important to protect his secrets. However, maintaining both of those things doesn't seem entirely possible anymore.
Fuck. If he's going to do this, he's going to have to do this. It'd be the best thing. (The heroic thing.) Right? ]
I don't think we have to worry about a pandemic, fortunately. As far as I've seen, there's only one of these things around, and it seems to want to keep itself as lowkey as possible. I don't think it's interested in spreading, just... surviving.
It's inside me. I haven't told anyone. I don't want to cause a panic. But if there's a chance your guy could remove it, I'm willing to meet with him.
But I'd like to talk about some things with you first, if that's all right. Maybe in person if you can manage it. I'm sure these lines are private, but...
[Whoa whoa, hit the brakes, hold his comm--Jim stops what he's doing so fast he's going to worry the people he'd been conversing with back on the ship. Something hard crosses his features before the calm, cool, and collected mask of a confident leader settles right back over Jim's face as though it had never left.
Just one.
His second in command would tell him not to go. That this is likely to be a trap. But if it was? Why be honest about the infection? Why not just do whatever he would with Bones if Jim sent him down? Or hell--keep quiet from the start on how dangerous it was so they didn't send heavy security with their away team in the first place?]
I'll come down. No offense but you're not getting on my ship until I've got some answers.
[Now he just has to postpone that department head meeting he'd been trying to organize ahead of sending a team down. Send them looking after something else for a little while...And head down to the transport before anyone comes looking for him.
Alone, or mostly. He's got someone from security on standby in transport in case he calls for her. He's hoping he won't have to.]
[ In a position of leadership himself, Konstantin certainly understands. In fact, the response from the other man gives him some sense of immediate relief; it shows the degree of responsibility involved. Kirk's a stranger to him beyond the surface level, known only in name, so there's just as much need to feel him out, too.
(And if anything goes wrong? What then?)
It's a risk he has to be willing to take. ]
No offense taken. I understand completely. And I'll give you all the answers I can, full transparency.
[ There's still much about this that he doesn't understand himself, but he'll have to place a certain degree of trust in someone who could potentially route him to medical help. ]
I'll wait for you alone. There's a building nearby where we can speak indoors, more comfortably.
I'm surface side now, just leaving the transport station.
[Jim too, is alone. Though back on station his security officer is monitoring his tracker and life signature closely. He's grateful the building Konstantin mentioned is nearby. Starfleet gear tends to be all weather but too light to offer any serious combat protection. Jim looks ready to go take readings, not fight.
He glances down at the tri-corder he'd brought with him, observing the baseline readings and how they differ from the high-atmosphere readings the ship was able to take. When he spies the other, Jim twitches what might be a polite smile if the situation wasn't so sober.]
Captain James T. Kirk, USS Enterprise. I'm real glad we're making introductions like this and not the team I was going to send down originally. For the record.
[ When he sees the other man approach, Konstantin steps closer, though cautiously — movements measured, deliberate, easy-going. It's thanks to years of intense psychological training to go right along with the physical that he's able to keep himself together so well. ...Though admittedly, his recent situation is challenging that, somewhat. Hard to keep interactions with other human beings 100% casual when one has an alien entity burrowed in their guts.
Still, he's good at playing his part. His own smile is warm, friendly. ]
Commander Konstantin Veshnyakov. But please, call me Kostya. The rest is a mouthful.
[ He turns his head towards the building he'd mentioned, a modest, windowless thing. ]
We'll have privacy there. Used to have supplies, but now it's just used for office space sometimes. [ ...Pause, and then— ] I'm glad for it, too. I wouldn't have wanted to freak your team out.
If we're going first name casuals then Jim is fine.
[He's eyeing that small windowless building. If Spock or Bones knew what he was even considering right now he'd be in so much shit. Shoulders tense, back straight. He knows he's taking a risk agreeing to go someplace like that with a potentially dangerous host.]
Sounds good. I've got my people working on the supplies we talked about, so better to duck out of sight before anyone gets curious.
[The captain folds his arms like he's not taking the mother of all risks and hops over a loose paving stone on his way toward the building Kostya mentioned. His comm is primed to call for help if he needs it. That will have to be good enough.]
Well, they probably wouldn't have known any different unless one of them checked you out.
Edited 2025-09-28 23:30 (UTC)
and then October kicked my butt so hard, sobs... but I'm still here for these sci-fi guys, no rush!!
[ Konstantin smiles again at the exchange of casual monikers between them. There's an underlying tension that he won't claim isn't there, no matter how at-ease he's hoping to appear, but it helps, even a little. ]
Good to meet you, Jim.
[ He keeps moving that way, maintaining a brisk but natural gait, not wanting to rush too quickly but mindful to make some haste at the same time. He really doesn't want anyone else to come across them, not yet. It's better to keep control over this situation as much as he's able, and it's best if he speaks to the man one-on-one first. ]
That's exactly why I wanted to go over things with you first. All of this could be a bit of a nasty shock to someone. Even a medical team. [ Konstantin leads them over to a door, not the front but a side one, more tucked out of view. Sliding a keycard in, he waits for the beep before pushing the door open. The halls inside are clean, sterile, and very quiet. No one else is here. ]
There's a nice office we can use down this way. [ A few doors down is a large room with seating, countless files, and a few machines for drink distribution. ] Can I get you some coffee? Tea?
[No one hails them, no one tries to wave them down. Jim's comm doesn't go off. They're safe for now. 'Safe'. Jim doesn't feel very safe but there's no one else he'd risk like this without knowing more information.]
Betting it was a pretty nasty shock to you as well. [He concedes. As wary as Jim is to exposing himself or his own people to this...potential threat. He's not unaware that Konstantin here is the first victim. Despite all alarm bells going off in Jim's head, he follows the other into the empty building.]
Wherever you feel most comfortable. Ship's sailed on that front for me, I think, but I'm guessing you don't need me to explain why. [He twitches a wan smile the other's way.] As much as I'm tempted I'd better not for a bit. My CMO is already going to lose his head over this. If I accepted food or drink on top of this he might actually kill me.
[Konstantin isn't lying about the office being nice, either. It looks pleasantly appointed when he's lead inside. All the more reason why it being empty feels a little jarring. The restless anxiety in the Captain longs to pace the room or let out any number of pointed questions but Jim shows none of it. He takes a long, deep, slow breath instead.]
Is this your office?
Edited (hit enter too early) 2025-11-12 14:18 (UTC)
[ There's a pleased little quirk to the cosmonaut's smile at that flush to the woman's cheeks — he takes it as a sign that his technique to fish for more information is working (at least he thinks it is). He warms even further in response, body language easing into something more relaxed, comfortable as he listens before lifting his brows with visible interest as she mentions the need for a strong stomach. This is very much what he was hoping to glean more about — but when she says it outright, Konstantin finds himself unexpectedly surprised.
....It might shake just a little of that self-assured ease in him. There's a pause, a flutter of something taken aback. Given the word exchanges between them through this little game, the concept of parasites coming up here isn't entirely a surprise, of course. But to hear confirmation that this is the kind of thing her circle involves...
It can't be mere coincidence. Can it? Suspicion ripples under his skin (he has to be cautious not to let himself become too anxious or else his own parasitic entity might react unfavourably) and Konstantin runs a hand down his jaw, as though thoughtfully. ]
Parasite biology. I can certainly imagine that wouldn't be a lunchtime favourite, no. [ A soft chuckle, but his mind is working itself quickly. There's always two options: safe or bold. Play it safe or risky. If this woman is already in the know about him, then what does he have to lose by pushing this a bit further? ]
Does this regard parasites.... found on Earth? Or the extraterrestrial kind? [ He still tries to keep it light-hearted, playful, smiling again. ] If that question makes me sound crazy, then forget I asked it. I promise I'm not crazy.
[ooc: hey, absolutely happy to jump over and keep going!! Also hello, it is I, Arid-mun :D I haven't tried getting Telrim out much in a while but I couldn't resist giving poor Kostya more alien parasites to deal with! I am also with you in getting eaten by work stuff so of course no worries about slowthreading as needed! <3]
[One moment she's chuckling along with him, a little ruefully, and the next- there's a pause, a flash of surprise that might be genuine; then another uncertain smile. It's all very natural, save for the fact that she's otherwise gone very still, the alien within putting a hard stop to any other reaction she might have.
It can't be coincidence, she thinks in turn- for entirely opposite reasons. Safer to assume it isn't, anyway. But then what? An escaped host? An entirely random human who's stumbled onto evidence of them somehow? Or - the worst case - is he a hated enemy in human shape, just toying with her?
Probably not that. She really hopes not. An Andalite would really ruin her week, to say the least.]
Oh, um- just the Earth kind. As far as they've told me, anyway. [Another chuckle. It's not enough to deflect: she needs more information. She shifts tone to awkwardly interested, as if trying to politely feel out whether she is, in fact, dealing with a crazy person.] Is that something to do with lizard people, or...? I don't really know much about UFOs, sorry.
[ ooc — omg hello it's so good to bump into you again to indulge in some more Sci-fi Shenanigans!! You have the coolest character taste, it's definitely my pleasure to toss this dumbass your way any time ♥ ]
[ Konstantin's careful to make sure his own interest stays curious and not desperate, though it's often a difficult line for him to toe, these days. ....Some days, harder than others. He likes to think he's still pretty good at it, at maintaining a certain control of his expressions, his reactions. Of everything around him. Never mind the persistent knowledge that so little actually is in his control, anymore...!
He focuses on watching the woman carefully, but not too carefully — still with that casual conversation, still with that playful little spark in his eye. He makes sure not to stare, to blink the appropriate amount of times, to not look at her as though hanging onto her words with bated breath and the discomforting nudge up inside of himself that he might be talking to an enemy, to someone who's recording everything he says, that any moment now he'll be caught—
He laughs at that, brightly, though there's no genuine relief. She could be lying to him as much as he's lying to her, after all. Or— not lying. Just not revealing everything. He'll reveal it in bits and pieces, careful. Keep seeing what she says in response. ]
No lizard people, at least none that I know of! [ Yes, it's all very amusing! Hahaha! ] No, please forgive me, my brain is always thinking about space things. I'm a cosmonaut, it's all we talk about.
[ His eyes crinkle at the corners, warm, friendly. Deliberating exactly how much to say. ]
We've bumped into some strange things up there, so— I can't help but wonder if some of them have ended up in labs back on Earth.
[ooc: aaa thank you! playing with you and Konstantin is so much fun, the pleasure is definitely mine! I'm always down for more Shenanigans with you. Plus, bonus Disillusioned Space Explorer CR potentially. :D]
[For a minute, he makes her doubt her own judgment. If he's lying, he's very good- much better than she's come to expect from humans. Better than an Andalite, probably. True, any Andalite who's been concealing himself on Earth long-term would have to be an excellent actor.But it's increasingly hard to believe an Andalite could feign this kind of... well. Charm. Certainly not if he suspected her true nature.
His explanation derails her speculations once more. She looks genuinely surprised, though perhaps there's a faint edge of something else. Concern. Or vindication.]
What, really? [She's half smiling as she searches his face, an expression that shifts to wide-eyed intrigue when she realizes he's serious.] ...Wow. Then maybe I should ask the lab techs what kind of samples they're really keeping in those fridges.
[Another joke! What light-hearted fun they're having... but she can't just brush off his interest. She needs to draw out more information. She lets her smile fade, her hesitation clear.]
...What... kind of strange things, though? I mean- I guess you're not talking about meeting any little grey men up there, right? I'm not a biologist, but I'm sure I'd have noticed one of those in the labs.
[She's watching his reaction to that especially carefully. The Yeerk is running down a mental list of her associates at this point, trying to get a sense of who or what might have provoked suspicion.]
[ ooc — Disillusioned Space Explorer things sounds like a party just waiting to happen!! Sometimes all that's needed for a fun time is two humans and a pair of ooky slugs living rent-free inside them...... ]
[ If she's lying, then Konstantin has to marvel at the fact that she's very good at it. Of course, there's still every possibility that she truly isn't, that there really is no nefarious purpose behind bumping into this stranger — that it really is just that. Coincidence.
That the topics of conversation, the word choices, are coincidence, too.
He still needs more evidence, still needs something to put his thumb on, as unlikely as it may be that such a thing will come easily. So for now: continue the conversation, push a little bit here and there, keep taking those risks. All the while his body language stays casual: arms folded across chest, shoulder tilted just slightly towards the wall as though resting against it. ]
No little grey men from my experience, yet. I was hoping for that, though. [ He gives another laugh, light-hearted. ] No, what we've seen so far are less... developed. Beings that suit their environment in the most base and resilient ways. Somehow both simplistic and incredibly complex.
...Much like insects, I could say. Insect-like. Parasites. That sort of thing.
[Parasites. Impossible not to react to that. Even if she masks her full reaction, there's a sharp look of interest... but not surprise. She frowns a little then: it doesn't sound quite right, but what other species could he be talking about?
No, he has to mean her kind. Which is only making her more certain that it's her duty to bring him in, one way or another. Granted, her superiors would have wanted him just for being a cosmonaut, but now...]
Like space bugs... that live inside other creatures? [And now she's careful to pause, feigning a disturbed realization.] Could they infect humans?
[Abruptly she's no longer pretending to question if he's serious. Another shift in this game, one which grows more serious by the second.]
[ Konstantin watches the woman carefully, still trying his damndest not to scrutinise, at least not in a way that visibly betrays the fact he's locked onto her every word and breath.
The slowburn, unnerved reaction to such a concept as humans infected by parasitic alien life does seem suiting, seems very real, it's a horrible disgusting upsetting thought (if he actively, in any moment, thinks about what's happened to him for a second too long he'll scream, but even now he can feel the fucking thing there inside of his body like a second pulse at his peripheral, giving subtle movements to certain stimuli, reacting to how he reacts to her; and sometimes the smiles he gives are more nauseated than anything—)
Konstantin eyes her as though unsure, and he isn't masking that now, lets it through as he adjusts to and matches the stranger's disposition again. No more pretending about the severity of this. Slowly, he stands up straight from where he was tilted to the wall, and folds his arms over his chest. ]
I'm really not supposed to talk about this. But..... we've found evidence suggesting such a thing, yes.
[ It's still not really a full truth, but it opens a certain door. This time when he smiles, it's grimly. ] Classified, of course. You can imagine the sort of panic that people would fall to if they thought something from up there could tangibly infect their bodies.
[She pretends to let it sink in, this expected revelation; then she widens her eyes, draws in a sharper breath. The word 'classified' jumps out to the Yeerk, much more than it would to her sheltered host. She takes note, but pretends obliviousness to any danger in the moment. The more honest he gets, the more she has to up her own acting game.]
Of... of course. I mean, that's terrifying. And... you said 'evidence'. That means... it's happened to someone?
[She asks as if dismayed, as if she almost doesn't want to know; doesn't want to imagine it. As if she's not just spacing out the questions she's very eager to slip in there, probing and testing at just what he knows.]
But there must be some way to expel them- some kind of cure. Right?
[She's clearly hoping for reassurance; inviting him to spill what he knows of their vulnerabilities - to tell her exactly how bad this security breach is.]
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— Copy. OR on standby. Blood type?
— Unknown.
— Copy. Pulling 5 units of O-.
Vasily reflexively grabs the edge of the stretcher to stabilize it as another pothole throws his body into the unyielding brace of the five-point harness that straps him into his seat beside the patient. 15 minutes. The cosmounaut's breathing, barely, wet jerky inhalations that crackle with his own blood—he may be DOA, though at least he doesn't seem to be conscious. It's Konstantin Veshnyakov, he'd realized when they took off the shards of the helmet to brace his spine with a cervical collar—the face is recognizable from the papers, even smeared with dark blood. It's almost unbelievable that his training should take him into a place this remote at the same time as a Hero of the Soviet Union descends from space, let alone that they should meet in the back of an ambulance—but that's as far as the thought gets him, at least while he's focused on making sure that man doesn't die.
The transfer once they pull into the carport of the Emergency Room is fast; as he hops out of the back of the ambulance and the driver trots around the side of it to help him unload their patient, they're greeted by a cluster of military men, some of them identifiably members of high command.
The trauma surgeons waiting for them at the loading dock don't seem to care. They muscle past, joining the two of them in lowering the stretcher and unlocking its wheels; his hands stay on the side rails as he and his partner and the three surgeons who came out to meet them rush the gurney down the hall to the operating room. They admit him, and for a moment he and Pavel stand staring at the twin doors without exchanging words, processing.
Pravda won't announce his death immediately if they lose him on the operating table—the only way to know when it happens is to stay. Vasiliy glances up at the wall clock—his shift is over in fifteen minutes, anyway. He excuses himself, bids Pavel goodnight, sits down on one of the chairs in the small waiting room outside of the OR and leans back, arms folded across his chest, closing his eyes as he drifts into shallow upright sleep to the sound of a woman's soft weeping a few chairs over.
The surgery and transfusion only last some three hours, judging by the position of the clock on the wall when the blue-gray double doors to the OR swing open and rouse him from his tenuous slumber; maybe Veshnyakov wasn't as bad-off as he had looked in the welter of his gore. Vasiliy gets up, jaw hinging with a yawn, and picks up the pace to walk astride one of the nurses. ]
How is he?
[ He lost a lot of blood but he'll pull through, he's told. It almost seemed like he was already recovering on the table. Vasiliy breathes a sigh of relief.
The nurses take Veshnyakov to a suite, one of the best rooms in the hospital, and get him hooked up to the requisite components of life support. A dextrose solution and plasma hang from the IV pole beside the bed; they run an oxygen line under his nose and hook it behind his ears. A few last checks, an injection of painkillers into the line, and they leave; he assures them he'll keep an eye on the man, though the guards posted at the door a few minutes after he entered seem to have similar at mind.
After the door shuts Vasiliy steps closer to the bed, cautious, as though his breathing might wake the man. He's almost unreal, his perfection in sharp contrast to the tangibility and mass of his body—even with every muscle in his face relaxed, he's handsome in a Yuri Gagarin sort of way, like someone brought a state poster to life. Real people don't look like that. He wonders what he'd look like, smiling for reporters after a successful landing.
None of the nurses even wiped the blood from around his mouth. A state hero deserves better treatment than that, for all he's done. Vasiliy walks to the bathroom and grabs a washcloth, wets it with warm water, carefully dabs away the crusted blood from his chin and lower lip before he returns to his chair. Veshnyakov deserves at least that much, getting mutilated for the good of his country.
He stays up for a little while longer, studying the rise and fall of the cosmonaut's chest, counting his respirations by second nature. At some point around 1 AM he feels satisfied enough that the man will pull through and leans back in the chair, legs stretched out, falling back asleep with practiced ease.
Vasiliy misses it, of course, when a few hours later the creature emerges in the darkness, studying him intently with eight eyes, watching his jugular vein, smelling him. More interest than a sick man would get, but not enough to mark him as viable prey. ]
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He returns from the black void of space to breathe in this planet's familiar air — the air of his home, no matter how much he's run from it — and something else finds itself on a strange new world in return. They've swapped places, the alien and the cosmonaut. Now the entity, that nameless thing with its soft wet body, is the stranger in a world where it must stay in the safety of a suit. Now it's the one that can't exist without protection.
So many things happen around it now, so many strange things — commotion and voices and vibrations. Its host body is being moved and manipulated, connected to things, monitored by things. It doesn't understand. It stays hidden in the warm safety of a man's body, curling in on itself.
But it's hungry, so new and so hungry. It's a peculiar thing, led by cold instinct like an insect and yet capable of a deep intelligence; already it is learning. It's fed from a human, right after the crash. And now it knows it can feed from these beings, the ones that walk on two legs and have two big eyes and bleed so easily.
The space around it become calm and quiet again. There is only one human left nearby, now. The creature senses the movement as the human nears its host's mouth — it tenses, readying itself, hungry. But not just yet. Not until night is yawning open into early morning, and the other human being in the room goes still.
Then it comes. Up and out, slithering its way from a throat that convulses violently around it. Its host's body both resists and encourages its forced exit, its girth spreading even as it's still leaving him, and when it's coiled and dripping on the floor of the hospital room, it takes a moment to try and understand its surroundings — as much as it's capable of. Everything outside of the man's body is cold, hard, and strange against its soft, sensitive body.
Its cluster of small black eyes glitters as it turns its strange hooded head to face the human being sitting in the chair nearby. Excited, the creature chitters softly with its wet clicking sounds, making its way closer, rising up on itself like a snake. It takes in the movement of his chest, the flutter of vein beneath skin; its body shudders with awareness, and want.
......Something's strange. Wrong. The human being is... two things (or is it nothing?) some paradoxical, impossible state. An imitation of life? ....No. Not alive, not dead — like preserved flesh. Unappetising, and the creature recoils, its little round suction mouth twitching with displeasure, moisture dripping from beneath its row of sharp teeth. There's nothing to be gained from cracking through this human being's skull and worming its mouth into the soft flesh of his brain, tearing and snapping. It doesn't want to taste what's inside of him. What's inside of him is... wrong.
But it's still hungry. It slithers past the man, looking up towards the closed door. There are other humans out there, but... it can't get through the barrier. And it knows not to try to call too much attention to itself; it should wait for another opportunity to feed. So it returns to its limp and unmoving host, pushing past his lips and forcing its way back down into the safety of his belly.
Everything is still again. Konstantin sleeps, still passed out from the seizure the creature induced in him. For the moment, mercifully, he knows nothing. But a few hours later, when his eyelashes flutter and he's gazing groggily up at the ceiling, head pounding and throat slick with nausea, memory begins to flash behind his eyes as though he's absorbing it from someone else. As though he's only a visitor in his own mind — no, no, he's not the visitor. The thing is. The thing.... Horror and panic have him suddenly moving, trying to get up — grasping at the oxygen line connected to his face, uncomfortably aware of the pull against his arm, tethered to an IV. He's giving a cry out loud, chest heaving; he's trapped. (Not so far deep down, he's aware he's trapped in a room with something that, on some level, doesn't register as human. At least, not the right way. Not the way any human should feel.) ]
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Commander. Commander Veshnyakov. It's alright. You're alright. You're in the hospital. You had a crash landing and you were in surgery. It's okay. You're alright.
[ He speaks quickly but not frantically, keeping his tone level and confident to avoid adding to the hysteria of the moment—a practiced pattern he finds himself able to fall into even, it would seem, in the presence of a Hero of the Soviet Union. ]
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'Commander'. Though the presence of the other man suddenly drawing nearer makes Konstantin's heart pound with a painful surge of adrenaline, that word spoken aloud catches hold of the cosmonaut even in the frantic pulse of this confused moment. He stares widely at the other man, listening to the words. An explanation, and one that makes sense, even as his mind is so desperately struggling to accept any of this as true.
'It's okay. You're alright.'
His mouth tips open to try and form some reply, but the smell and taste of blood is abruptly assaulting his senses, wet and coppery and aching. It comes up from the depths of himself, things bleeding from within, body fighting against its unwanted occupant. He gags, and dark wet bubbles up from his lips, which he sputters against, fingers tightening into the sterile white sheets beneath himself. ]
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The blood that spatters down into the basin with every new retch is dark, not particularly oxygenated; that, at least, is a good sign, or perhaps more aptly the better of the two possibilities. ]
Easy. Slow breaths through your nose. [ The same thing he'd say to a civilian patient. ] You have internal bleeding from your crash. Blood is maybe still coming up. You're okay. I will get the doctor soon.
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But he does. Breathes slowly, in through his nose like the stranger says. There are a couple of sporadic convulsions, spasms that rack through his frame and cause him to spit up blood, but they begin to die down, and he's left shuddering, leaned over.
Weakly, he closes his eyes, tries to find ground within himself. Make sense of what he can. When he opens them again, his chest isn't heaving on the cusp of panic, though he continues to shudder softly. ]
My co-pilot. Comrade Averchenko. Is he..... dead? Do you know? [ His voice is hoarse, and wet from blood. He isn't looking the man in the eyes, not just yet. For more than one reason, he has to avoid that for a little longer. ]
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[ Vasiliy has the feeling he already knows the answer, having seen the man's brain glistening in the open air, but he doesn't share that piece of information, not when his patient is only just starting to calm down. Comrade Veshnyakov is in a fragile, tenuous state, still hovering on the edge of the panic attack he just came out of. He's not ready to hear that Averchenko is likely dead, not yet, though Vasiliy does at least withdraw the gentle touch of the hand on the cosmonaut's upper arm as he begins to catch his breath. ]
Are you in pain?
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Konstantin feels the careful touch at his arm retract, and there's some small, human moment he can't quite control where he longs for that contact again — a counter to the horror of the impossible knowledge he has of this man. Slowly, the cosmonaut looks up to him, finally taking in the stranger's face. A younger man than himself, noticeably so; Konstantin is nearing forty and there are good-natured wrinkles at the edges of his eyes, and grey at his temples. Charming features, he's been told. He can be trusted. ]
...Not too much, [ he replies, although it's because he's used to downplaying his own discomforts, to the point of pretending he doesn't have them at all. He swallows with a soft sound against the copper taste still lingering in his mouth, and licks his lips to clear the remaining blood.
He hesitates. Should he... reveal it? Beg for help? He's in a hospital now, he needs the thing out— ...or maybe there is no thing at all. Maybe he's lost his fucking mind.
Another thought comes in, fights against everything. He won't be allowed to retrieve his son if he's perceived to be insane, if he has some kind of meltdown. And his public image.... which may already become tarnished once he recovers the boy... He can't risk losing more than what he inevitably has. ]
Mostly dizzy. [ Konstantin's dark eyes flit to the chair in the room, and then stay there. Through something else's memory, he recalls the peculiar sensation of this man, but his own human senses struggle to translate it from the creature's enhanced ones. He does not like the way he involuntarily thinks about it in terms of taste, and tries to block out the feeling. ]
You were here all night?
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He wanted to meet a Hero of the Soviet Union. A real cosmonaut, someone who went to the beyond and came back alive... even if only barely. And he was worried—it didn't sit well with him that someone who had given so much to his country should just be left unattended like any other patient. ]
Yes. My shift was over and they're short-staffed. I had nowhere else to be so I said I'd watch you.
[ He says it as though he was asked to, or as though in a more general sense it was brought up that someone should. In reality, he'd volunteered, but that's neither here nor there. ]
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this icon is just Konstantin, always,
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@smartass_captain
[ Once again, Konstantin finds himself torn on just how much to share. It's important to give the facts, but it's equally important to protect his secrets. However, maintaining both of those things doesn't seem entirely possible anymore.
Fuck. If he's going to do this, he's going to have to do this. It'd be the best thing. (The heroic thing.) Right? ]
I don't think we have to worry about a pandemic, fortunately. As far as I've seen, there's only one of these things around, and it seems to want to keep itself as lowkey as possible. I don't think it's interested in spreading, just... surviving.
It's inside me. I haven't told anyone. I don't want to cause a panic. But if there's a chance your guy could remove it, I'm willing to meet with him.
But I'd like to talk about some things with you first, if that's all right. Maybe in person if you can manage it. I'm sure these lines are private, but...
[ He's a little paranoid about it. ]
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Just one.
His second in command would tell him not to go. That this is likely to be a trap. But if it was? Why be honest about the infection? Why not just do whatever he would with Bones if Jim sent him down? Or hell--keep quiet from the start on how dangerous it was so they didn't send heavy security with their away team in the first place?]
I'll come down. No offense but you're not getting on my ship until I've got some answers.
[Now he just has to postpone that department head meeting he'd been trying to organize ahead of sending a team down. Send them looking after something else for a little while...And head down to the transport before anyone comes looking for him.
Alone, or mostly. He's got someone from security on standby in transport in case he calls for her. He's hoping he won't have to.]
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(And if anything goes wrong? What then?)
It's a risk he has to be willing to take. ]
No offense taken. I understand completely.
And I'll give you all the answers I can, full transparency.
[ There's still much about this that he doesn't understand himself, but he'll have to place a certain degree of trust in someone who could potentially route him to medical help. ]
I'll wait for you alone. There's a building nearby where we can speak indoors, more comfortably.
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[Jim too, is alone. Though back on station his security officer is monitoring his tracker and life signature closely. He's grateful the building Konstantin mentioned is nearby. Starfleet gear tends to be all weather but too light to offer any serious combat protection. Jim looks ready to go take readings, not fight.
He glances down at the tri-corder he'd brought with him, observing the baseline readings and how they differ from the high-atmosphere readings the ship was able to take. When he spies the other, Jim twitches what might be a polite smile if the situation wasn't so sober.]
Captain James T. Kirk, USS Enterprise. I'm real glad we're making introductions like this and not the team I was going to send down originally. For the record.
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Still, he's good at playing his part. His own smile is warm, friendly. ]
Commander Konstantin Veshnyakov. But please, call me Kostya. The rest is a mouthful.
[ He turns his head towards the building he'd mentioned, a modest, windowless thing. ]
We'll have privacy there. Used to have supplies, but now it's just used for office space sometimes. [ ...Pause, and then— ] I'm glad for it, too. I wouldn't have wanted to freak your team out.
I swear i live
[He's eyeing that small windowless building. If Spock or Bones knew what he was even considering right now he'd be in so much shit. Shoulders tense, back straight. He knows he's taking a risk agreeing to go someplace like that with a potentially dangerous host.]
Sounds good. I've got my people working on the supplies we talked about, so better to duck out of sight before anyone gets curious.
[The captain folds his arms like he's not taking the mother of all risks and hops over a loose paving stone on his way toward the building Kostya mentioned. His comm is primed to call for help if he needs it. That will have to be good enough.]
Well, they probably wouldn't have known any different unless one of them checked you out.
and then October kicked my butt so hard, sobs... but I'm still here for these sci-fi guys, no rush!!
Good to meet you, Jim.
[ He keeps moving that way, maintaining a brisk but natural gait, not wanting to rush too quickly but mindful to make some haste at the same time. He really doesn't want anyone else to come across them, not yet. It's better to keep control over this situation as much as he's able, and it's best if he speaks to the man one-on-one first. ]
That's exactly why I wanted to go over things with you first. All of this could be a bit of a nasty shock to someone. Even a medical team. [ Konstantin leads them over to a door, not the front but a side one, more tucked out of view. Sliding a keycard in, he waits for the beep before pushing the door open. The halls inside are clean, sterile, and very quiet. No one else is here. ]
There's a nice office we can use down this way. [ A few doors down is a large room with seating, countless files, and a few machines for drink distribution. ] Can I get you some coffee? Tea?
Sci fi blorbos to keep us sane on the Outside...
Betting it was a pretty nasty shock to you as well. [He concedes. As wary as Jim is to exposing himself or his own people to this...potential threat. He's not unaware that Konstantin here is the first victim. Despite all alarm bells going off in Jim's head, he follows the other into the empty building.]
Wherever you feel most comfortable. Ship's sailed on that front for me, I think, but I'm guessing you don't need me to explain why. [He twitches a wan smile the other's way.] As much as I'm tempted I'd better not for a bit. My CMO is already going to lose his head over this. If I accepted food or drink on top of this he might actually kill me.
[Konstantin isn't lying about the office being nice, either. It looks pleasantly appointed when he's lead inside. All the more reason why it being empty feels a little jarring. The restless anxiety in the Captain longs to pace the room or let out any number of pointed questions but Jim shows none of it. He takes a long, deep, slow breath instead.]
Is this your office?
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[ There's a pleased little quirk to the cosmonaut's smile at that flush to the woman's cheeks — he takes it as a sign that his technique to fish for more information is working (at least he thinks it is). He warms even further in response, body language easing into something more relaxed, comfortable as he listens before lifting his brows with visible interest as she mentions the need for a strong stomach. This is very much what he was hoping to glean more about — but when she says it outright, Konstantin finds himself unexpectedly surprised.
....It might shake just a little of that self-assured ease in him. There's a pause, a flutter of something taken aback. Given the word exchanges between them through this little game, the concept of parasites coming up here isn't entirely a surprise, of course. But to hear confirmation that this is the kind of thing her circle involves...
It can't be mere coincidence. Can it? Suspicion ripples under his skin (he has to be cautious not to let himself become too anxious or else his own parasitic entity might react unfavourably) and Konstantin runs a hand down his jaw, as though thoughtfully. ]
Parasite biology. I can certainly imagine that wouldn't be a lunchtime favourite, no. [ A soft chuckle, but his mind is working itself quickly. There's always two options: safe or bold. Play it safe or risky. If this woman is already in the know about him, then what does he have to lose by pushing this a bit further? ]
Does this regard parasites.... found on Earth? Or the extraterrestrial kind? [ He still tries to keep it light-hearted, playful, smiling again. ] If that question makes me sound crazy, then forget I asked it. I promise I'm not crazy.
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[One moment she's chuckling along with him, a little ruefully, and the next- there's a pause, a flash of surprise that might be genuine; then another uncertain smile. It's all very natural, save for the fact that she's otherwise gone very still, the alien within putting a hard stop to any other reaction she might have.
It can't be coincidence, she thinks in turn- for entirely opposite reasons. Safer to assume it isn't, anyway. But then what? An escaped host? An entirely random human who's stumbled onto evidence of them somehow? Or - the worst case - is he a hated enemy in human shape, just toying with her?
Probably not that. She really hopes not. An Andalite would really ruin her week, to say the least.]
Oh, um- just the Earth kind. As far as they've told me, anyway. [Another chuckle. It's not enough to deflect: she needs more information. She shifts tone to awkwardly interested, as if trying to politely feel out whether she is, in fact, dealing with a crazy person.] Is that something to do with lizard people, or...? I don't really know much about UFOs, sorry.
[Ha. Ha. Ha.]
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[ Konstantin's careful to make sure his own interest stays curious and not desperate, though it's often a difficult line for him to toe, these days. ....Some days, harder than others. He likes to think he's still pretty good at it, at maintaining a certain control of his expressions, his reactions. Of everything around him. Never mind the persistent knowledge that so little actually is in his control, anymore...!
He focuses on watching the woman carefully, but not too carefully — still with that casual conversation, still with that playful little spark in his eye. He makes sure not to stare, to blink the appropriate amount of times, to not look at her as though hanging onto her words with bated breath and the discomforting nudge up inside of himself that he might be talking to an enemy, to someone who's recording everything he says, that any moment now he'll be caught—
He laughs at that, brightly, though there's no genuine relief. She could be lying to him as much as he's lying to her, after all. Or— not lying. Just not revealing everything. He'll reveal it in bits and pieces, careful. Keep seeing what she says in response. ]
No lizard people, at least none that I know of! [ Yes, it's all very amusing! Hahaha! ] No, please forgive me, my brain is always thinking about space things. I'm a cosmonaut, it's all we talk about.
[ His eyes crinkle at the corners, warm, friendly. Deliberating exactly how much to say. ]
We've bumped into some strange things up there, so— I can't help but wonder if some of them have ended up in labs back on Earth.
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[For a minute, he makes her doubt her own judgment. If he's lying, he's very good- much better than she's come to expect from humans. Better than an Andalite, probably. True, any Andalite who's been concealing himself on Earth long-term would have to be an excellent actor.But it's increasingly hard to believe an Andalite could feign this kind of... well. Charm. Certainly not if he suspected her true nature.
His explanation derails her speculations once more. She looks genuinely surprised, though perhaps there's a faint edge of something else. Concern. Or vindication.]
What, really? [She's half smiling as she searches his face, an expression that shifts to wide-eyed intrigue when she realizes he's serious.] ...Wow. Then maybe I should ask the lab techs what kind of samples they're really keeping in those fridges.
[Another joke! What light-hearted fun they're having... but she can't just brush off his interest. She needs to draw out more information. She lets her smile fade, her hesitation clear.]
...What... kind of strange things, though? I mean- I guess you're not talking about meeting any little grey men up there, right? I'm not a biologist, but I'm sure I'd have noticed one of those in the labs.
[She's watching his reaction to that especially carefully. The Yeerk is running down a mental list of her associates at this point, trying to get a sense of who or what might have provoked suspicion.]
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[ If she's lying, then Konstantin has to marvel at the fact that she's very good at it. Of course, there's still every possibility that she truly isn't, that there really is no nefarious purpose behind bumping into this stranger — that it really is just that. Coincidence.
That the topics of conversation, the word choices, are coincidence, too.
He still needs more evidence, still needs something to put his thumb on, as unlikely as it may be that such a thing will come easily. So for now: continue the conversation, push a little bit here and there, keep taking those risks. All the while his body language stays casual: arms folded across chest, shoulder tilted just slightly towards the wall as though resting against it. ]
No little grey men from my experience, yet. I was hoping for that, though. [ He gives another laugh, light-hearted. ] No, what we've seen so far are less... developed. Beings that suit their environment in the most base and resilient ways. Somehow both simplistic and incredibly complex.
...Much like insects, I could say. Insect-like. Parasites. That sort of thing.
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No, he has to mean her kind. Which is only making her more certain that it's her duty to bring him in, one way or another. Granted, her superiors would have wanted him just for being a cosmonaut, but now...]
Like space bugs... that live inside other creatures? [And now she's careful to pause, feigning a disturbed realization.] Could they infect humans?
[Abruptly she's no longer pretending to question if he's serious. Another shift in this game, one which grows more serious by the second.]
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The slowburn, unnerved reaction to such a concept as humans infected by parasitic alien life does seem suiting, seems very real, it's a horrible disgusting upsetting thought (if he actively, in any moment, thinks about what's happened to him for a second too long he'll scream, but even now he can feel the fucking thing there inside of his body like a second pulse at his peripheral, giving subtle movements to certain stimuli, reacting to how he reacts to her; and sometimes the smiles he gives are more nauseated than anything—)
Konstantin eyes her as though unsure, and he isn't masking that now, lets it through as he adjusts to and matches the stranger's disposition again. No more pretending about the severity of this. Slowly, he stands up straight from where he was tilted to the wall, and folds his arms over his chest. ]
I'm really not supposed to talk about this. But..... we've found evidence suggesting such a thing, yes.
[ It's still not really a full truth, but it opens a certain door. This time when he smiles, it's grimly. ] Classified, of course. You can imagine the sort of panic that people would fall to if they thought something from up there could tangibly infect their bodies.
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Of... of course. I mean, that's terrifying. And... you said 'evidence'. That means... it's happened to someone?
[She asks as if dismayed, as if she almost doesn't want to know; doesn't want to imagine it. As if she's not just spacing out the questions she's very eager to slip in there, probing and testing at just what he knows.]
But there must be some way to expel them- some kind of cure. Right?
[She's clearly hoping for reassurance; inviting him to spill what he knows of their vulnerabilities - to tell her exactly how bad this security breach is.]
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telrim's just annoyed he's good at playing all his cards