[ It's imperative that he keeps up this act, that they think he doesn't know of the creature. He pretends to be confused when they say he can't eat certain things, when they do certain tests, when there are always multiple armed guards escorting him to and from the medical rooms and to recreation, where he's allowed some "free" time (and is always watched). They're afraid of him, he knows. How could they not be? The thing seems to follow certain rules of its species, ways of functioning, at least. It's weak outside of him, soft and pliable. It's extremely sensitive to light; he doesn't think there is much danger of it surfacing outside of the darkness. But even so, there too many unknowns of this thing that came from the stars, despite what controlled studies the scientists desperately try to run. Everyone here tries not to look at him as if he's infected with some sickness they're afraid to contract (but he sees it in their faces, a quiet fear), and it's a mutual game played between the cosmonaut and his captors — don't let him know. Don't let them know that he already does.
What he does not have to pretend to be is sick, and startled. When he feels movement, or a nausea, or a coiling ache. His body rebels against its invader, its unwelcomed occupant. His stomach hurts, his chest; often he finds himself shuddering, coughing, flinching. Those things are not an act, and he knows they see them, too. Even now, it reacts in him to the brief surge of startle and alarm from seeing the EMT shoved into his container, no matter how well Konstantin is at controlling himself. His body still has its reactions, no matter how subtle, and perceived so easily by its sensitive inhabitant. He coughs suddenly, a stuttering thing, and instinctively places a hand to his abdomen.
Immediately after, he knows this will get their attention, and silently curses, but keeps his focus on Vasiliy. Pretending not to think anything of it. Indigestion, or a result of the stress he's suffered. That's all it is. His fingers curve slowly against the tight material of his shirt, before he lets his hand fall away. Inside him, a cluster of black eyes flutter. ]
Taken your blood? At least I'm not alone in being poked and prodded, but I'm surprised they've kept you here.
[ He frowns as he looks him over with an empathy he wears on his face, good-natured in his concern. Of course, Konstantin knows there is something deeply wrong with this man before him. (Do they know, too? They must. Why else would they keep Vasiliy? Do they think the cosmonaut's infected him somehow, being so close to him that night in the hospital? ....Were they watching, even then?) ]
Here, you must sit— rest a while. [ Konstantin reaches for the other man's shoulder, gentle but firm as he coaxes him towards the little table, where he'll move to sit across from him. He hesitates, knowing he should let his new companion know he's being watched (not knowing that Vasiliy already is aware to that fact), but... cautiously. Keep talking, like nothing's wrong. ]
Do you know how long before you can be discharged? I suppose they ran out of rooms, and needed us to share for awhile.
no subject
What he does not have to pretend to be is sick, and startled. When he feels movement, or a nausea, or a coiling ache. His body rebels against its invader, its unwelcomed occupant. His stomach hurts, his chest; often he finds himself shuddering, coughing, flinching. Those things are not an act, and he knows they see them, too. Even now, it reacts in him to the brief surge of startle and alarm from seeing the EMT shoved into his container, no matter how well Konstantin is at controlling himself. His body still has its reactions, no matter how subtle, and perceived so easily by its sensitive inhabitant. He coughs suddenly, a stuttering thing, and instinctively places a hand to his abdomen.
Immediately after, he knows this will get their attention, and silently curses, but keeps his focus on Vasiliy. Pretending not to think anything of it. Indigestion, or a result of the stress he's suffered. That's all it is. His fingers curve slowly against the tight material of his shirt, before he lets his hand fall away. Inside him, a cluster of black eyes flutter. ]
Taken your blood? At least I'm not alone in being poked and prodded, but I'm surprised they've kept you here.
[ He frowns as he looks him over with an empathy he wears on his face, good-natured in his concern. Of course, Konstantin knows there is something deeply wrong with this man before him. (Do they know, too? They must. Why else would they keep Vasiliy? Do they think the cosmonaut's infected him somehow, being so close to him that night in the hospital? ....Were they watching, even then?) ]
Here, you must sit— rest a while. [ Konstantin reaches for the other man's shoulder, gentle but firm as he coaxes him towards the little table, where he'll move to sit across from him. He hesitates, knowing he should let his new companion know he's being watched (not knowing that Vasiliy already is aware to that fact), but... cautiously. Keep talking, like nothing's wrong. ]
Do you know how long before you can be discharged? I suppose they ran out of rooms, and needed us to share for awhile.