[ 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. ]
no subject
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?