[ The creature falls silent, its mouthparts growing still, and holds eye contact like something humanoid. It could be preparing to strike, or frozen in fear—it's impossible to tell. Possibly it's more intimidated by him than he of it, or maybe not. Maybe it's venomous.
It's irrelevant. He needs to get to that wall, to get someone before the cosmonaut on the other bed starts losing brain function. Vasiliy braces himself, tries not to think about thw fact that he's interacting with an alien from outer space, and who knows what pathogens he's been exposed to, and simply— takes another step into its space, waving his arms, making himself larger. ]
[ It's yet another first for the creature — seeing a human do these things, stepping towards it, arms held out and moving. Humans have shirked in fear from it, or aimed their weapons its way, but not this. Shouting words at it, things it can't understand but can feel the tone of, sharp and aggressive.
The alien is startled, the flaps of its hood rippling up and down, rapidly. At the same time it shrieks, fitful, and turns back around, slithering away from the man who smells so wrong, squirming as it wills its wet body quickly away. It wants to hide, and it crawls its way back up to the bed its host is lying unconscious on, quickly secreting more thick slime to coat itself with so that it doesn't damage its entrance back inside.
Its girth shifts and changes as it forces its way into the man's mouth and down his throat, working its glistening, snakelike form with a mixture of pumping and squirming, Konstantin's body thrashing with spasms as the invader keeps going — until only the tip of its thrashing tail is disappearing into his lips. The man's throat ripples with movement, and a few more convulsions have him violently shaking against the thin bed, but finally he'll go still again once the creature has settled somewhere deep within him. ]
[ Vasiliy doesn't consider himself squeamish—in fact, his lack of reaction to the indescribable gore that can be inflicted upon the human bodies he and his partners were tasked with saving has drawn attention in the past—but he watches first with amazement as the creature shapeshifts, then open-mouthed horror as it forces itself into the cosmonaut's body, jerking him around like a puppet.
It seems impossibly large to even fit down his throat without esophageal rupture, but to carry that thing in his stomach? He can't imagine. How has the poor man been eating? Is this why he was bleeding and vomiting? Was it trying to get out in the hospital room—was his body trying to get it out?
He'll process this later. Clad in a similar outfit to Veshnyakov's own, he rushes to the one way glass, slapping his palms against it repeatedly. ]
He needs help! He had a seizure and there's some kind of parasite in him and he's still unconscious! He needs to be taken to a hospital now or he will have brain damage! Help him!
[ The doors swing open, but the two guards stride briskly toward him, not Konstantin Sergeyevich. They ignore him. ]
-
[ It's explained to him. It won't be good for Commander Veshnyakov to know what's going on until they can get it out of him, to avoid causing undue stress. The penalty for a dissenting opinion goes unspoken: they know he was in the NKVD. They know he knows better than anyone.
The earliest light of dawn is coming in through the curtains when they return him to the glorified prison cell. Immediately he finds his way to Veshnyakov's bedside, counting his respirations as he approaches. And, with a sense of foreboding at the uncertainty of whether or not there will be any response to the stimuli at all, he touches the man's bulky arm and quietly speaks up. ]
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no subject
It's irrelevant. He needs to get to that wall, to get someone before the cosmonaut on the other bed starts losing brain function. Vasiliy braces himself, tries not to think about thw fact that he's interacting with an alien from outer space, and who knows what pathogens he's been exposed to, and simply— takes another step into its space, waving his arms, making himself larger. ]
Back! Get back.
no subject
The alien is startled, the flaps of its hood rippling up and down, rapidly. At the same time it shrieks, fitful, and turns back around, slithering away from the man who smells so wrong, squirming as it wills its wet body quickly away. It wants to hide, and it crawls its way back up to the bed its host is lying unconscious on, quickly secreting more thick slime to coat itself with so that it doesn't damage its entrance back inside.
Its girth shifts and changes as it forces its way into the man's mouth and down his throat, working its glistening, snakelike form with a mixture of pumping and squirming, Konstantin's body thrashing with spasms as the invader keeps going — until only the tip of its thrashing tail is disappearing into his lips. The man's throat ripples with movement, and a few more convulsions have him violently shaking against the thin bed, but finally he'll go still again once the creature has settled somewhere deep within him. ]
no subject
It seems impossibly large to even fit down his throat without esophageal rupture, but to carry that thing in his stomach? He can't imagine. How has the poor man been eating? Is this why he was bleeding and vomiting? Was it trying to get out in the hospital room—was his body trying to get it out?
He'll process this later. Clad in a similar outfit to Veshnyakov's own, he rushes to the one way glass, slapping his palms against it repeatedly. ]
He needs help! He had a seizure and there's some kind of parasite in him and he's still unconscious! He needs to be taken to a hospital now or he will have brain damage! Help him!
[ The doors swing open, but the two guards stride briskly toward him, not Konstantin Sergeyevich. They ignore him. ]
-
[ It's explained to him. It won't be good for Commander Veshnyakov to know what's going on until they can get it out of him, to avoid causing undue stress. The penalty for a dissenting opinion goes unspoken: they know he was in the NKVD. They know he knows better than anyone.
The earliest light of dawn is coming in through the curtains when they return him to the glorified prison cell. Immediately he finds his way to Veshnyakov's bedside, counting his respirations as he approaches. And, with a sense of foreboding at the uncertainty of whether or not there will be any response to the stimuli at all, he touches the man's bulky arm and quietly speaks up. ]
Konstantin Sergeyevich.