eyemind | event } the honk is coming from inside the ship

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event } the honk is coming from inside the ship

WHO: Everyone left behind on Navi.
WHAT: There’s a goose on the loose!
WHERE: Anywhere on Navi.
WHEN: Feb. 20-March 13
WARNINGS: Add these to your comment subject lines as needed! And if the goose pecks through your skull, please make sure to fill out the death page.

Those of you who haven’t been swept off to a hell dimension may find that Navi is … unusually empty. Those links you had with your partner? It’s like they’ve just been shut off with the flick of a switch. Weird, right?

However, Navi’s halls are not exactly quieter for the emptiness. At first, you might think you’re imagining it, but soon enough, it becomes evident that there is something else on board this ship and it honks. The honking is intermittent, but it never truly ends for good. You’ll hear it through the walls, outside your cabin doors, on the next floor - everywhere.

After a few hours of this nonsense, Navi reaches out to the passengers via the mental link and asks them to find the source of this infernal noise and round it up so it can be ejected from the ship. It’s driving Navi nuts, they can’t tell where the honking is coming from, so they can’t take care of it themselves. It won’t be easy, because this goose is wily (and an eldritch being, technically), but it needs to be handled, and there’s no one else around. Good thing you’re still here to help!

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Richard abandoned the goose hunt.

He had to, the whole thing was obscene and whatever strange emotions he got off the goose or the ship he had to think. He wanted to be by himself and try and remember what life was like before all of this was normal.

When the pain hits him, he grits his teeth. Psychic. Absolutely ridiculous. I don't want to think like this. I don't want to imagine -

The pain makes him twitch. His hands spasm. It's real and it feels like something ebbing. Hell if you all killed that damn goose... Pulling himself up out of his chair and padding back to the last place he saw the goose -

No. It was the source of pain. He was walking toward the source of pain and ebbing life. He padded toward it carefully, hands out, getting warier and warier until-

"Simon-?"

Disturbing a death scene? Richard Strand is instantly angry, "What the hell is going on?!"

Time is soup, however that wasn't necessarily that comforting when it was the timeline you were attached to. Perhaps some were successful, perhaps some would fail, but Simon's concern was more selfish: He wanted his world to survive. His reality. Not that it mattered much right now.

Oh good, well since his brain wasn't firing off random images and synapses yet he must not be that close to death. Maybe if he could drag his sorry ass off to the infirmary but trying to navigate hallways right now didn't sound like much fun. So... he'll sit, and wax poetic about sunsets instead. "The countryside is the best part," Architecture sure, but Simon's all about those scenic vistas and sunsets. "Russia, too, you wouldn't think it."

Ah, but what was this? By now a couple drones had meandered in to begin their task of clearing away rubble and scrubbing down walls. But behind them he felt the distress and confusion before the man arrived. Simon just lazily smirked at him from his spot on the floor tucked up against the wall. With all the blood around he expected the answer would be clear enough.

"You're slow, Doctor." He slurred, then giggled, because yeah he's losing it a bit. Well, more. Not dead yet, definitely dying. You could help.

Richard Strand is a psychologist.

A psychologist as he liked to remind his sister. Not a psychiatrist. Not a doctor though he did at least try for some degree of chemistry after passing O chem through an act of God...

But he also prides himself on science, the powers of science, and medicine so he has some training, some degree of charts and -

He is painfully aware he chose a suit today even if it's careworn and sweaty from chasing that damned goose around and dealing with this...bleeding young man. Moving forward he shrugs out of his coat looking for the nearest place to tie a tourniquet.

"Stay awake. What the hell happened." He doesn't wince as he kneels. He runs - the knees are the first to go.

The command in his voice is above reproach. This is the voice he uses with angry grad students, irate priests and parents. It is to be obeyed.

Oh, hello there. Someone approaches. Quick to attend to the young man slathered in blood and what a charming presence. So confident and commanding, wasn't he? They'll address that eventually, maybe. Head rolls against the wall. Oh, his pulse is thinning. Skin growing paler. "That you think of sunsets in these moments is really quite endearing."

Well, now perhaps its time to address this fine dressed fellow. "He picked a fight with an Eldritch Goose."

Hey, Richard, have you met the Elemental in the room? You know, the big one with the silver face and horns having a casual conversation about sunsets with a dying man? He's very nice, ate the goose, it was quite impressive.

Simon offers Quin something of an amused gesture in return, though he's feeling a little too tired now to give much more than that. Or much more than an annoyed sideways look at Richard and his barking demands at a time like this.

"What he said." He slurred, expression turning into something between a grin and baring his teeth. Hard to tell which it was at this juncture. Feeling a little feral. Sorry about the gender Spirit, he doesn't actually know any better.

You can't command blood back into his body, Richard, but points for trying.

Edited 2021-03-28 03:45 (UTC)

Oh he saw. He didn't want to acknowledge it - to stare the thing down because it feels like his head is ringing but he can't tell if that's because of that thing or if it's just the proximity to death.

Eldritch Goose, "You hurt that goose?" He bares his teeth, "I told you." He glares at the thing with the silver face, his features scrunch. Fear is curled inside of him but there is also an edge to it. Something that makes him puff up and stare the thing down.

"...And no one stopped you. Of course no one stopped you." He presses a hand to the other man's wound, "...Don't die Simon."

A few rolls of deep laughter bubble up. How curious. One blink, they're still beside Simon. The next they're gone, now standing mid-room to survey this mess. It would be easy enough for Aether to move them all from here to there, but they won't.

"Hardly the worst fate" Spirit mentions, taps clacking lightly against the floor beneath. A hand waved, one chair -- miraculously intact -- slides toward them. They sit, dropping a leg over the opposing knee. The same hand unfurled in gesticulation, "why scold a well-earned death?"

It could be both. Simon can't really tell which is which right now, nor does he care to. He's dealing with a bit much right now to be trying to sort out if the headaches are Aether or himself.

"Goose is gone." He emphasized that with a laugh, delirious or crazy or both. Yes, well Richard tried to tell him not to but Simon promptly failed to listen. He doesn't take orders. Which wound, Richard? There are a lot of them, but that's fine because Simon's trying to hold one of the worst ones together but he's not doing a great job at that. There is an infirmary, something Navi is likely to remind them. He doesn't have to sit there and bleed.

You know, Aether has a good point. Simon gestures a bloody hand in his direction again. See? At least give him that.

"You wanted to leave it? How long before it started going for people directly I wonder?" No one else seemed willing to deal with the problem, so Simon stepped up.

"Be quiet. Both of you." Richard's voice is ice cold as he finally settles on one wound slowly ebbing out that seems to be an artery. Slipping off his shirt revealing a white undershirt, he ties it above the wound, "I'm not leaving him. You can either help or get out of the way."

His hands shake as he moves to lift the other man up.

Don't tell him that Simon's still hoping that he might prove more durable than he looks right now and actually survive this through some miraculous act of science. It wasn't looking good but at least he was still conscious, if barely.

Simon's not given up completely on fighting so he'll throw an arm over Strand to help pull him up. This is a highly advanced space ship, surely Navi's equipped with some kind of medical equipment that can handle this sort of thing right?

The kid is light, unnaturally so, but he's still there and it takes a moment or two for him to haul the younger man into the infirmary, bloody and sweaty as he studies his makeshift attempt to get him to stop bleeding.

Richard is not gentle as he moves him to the table, but gentle when he examines the wounds, "...Talk to me. What happened with the goose."

His head is echoing.

Simon really could do with putting on some weight, yet he seems very resistant to it. Useful in times like this. The trek, while short, was still agonizing. Drones seemed to hover nearby to assist but never interfered. Humans were unpredictable.

By the time they make it that last effort pretty well wore out what second wind Simon had. He was content just to slump down on the table and close his eyes. Talking? No, he thinks he'd like to sleep.

"Not a goose," Really, he thought that much was obvious by now. Geese are mean but not this dangerous. Missing the point: Simon Reese.

Richard is at a loss here, and when he's at a loss - disgruntled and confused - he gets angry and clings to the science and the rational aspects of living. He doesn't speak. He just focuses on the young man in front of him there are lacerations.

"The eldritch goose then." His throat is tight. There are so many gadgets and whirring things that he has to lower his hands and he looks, senses, reads anxious, "Hold still."

That apparently is a command to activate - something - a rolling thing with a spray of tools - some sharp and some dull and some looking like pens in a cup, "...It's a goose."

He bares his teeth and picks up one, "...This...May sting?"

The light turns red around the area he picked it up from. He grabs a second one and it turns read before he focuses on the devices and concentrates until-

Blue. The correct tool is blue and he's reminded of his very first game of operation as a boy - before he twists it to reveal a very sharp laser. Sharp - can a beam of light be sharp?

No. He did that wrong. A second device turns blue and he grabs that and this one looks more like a press so he moves to the torn flesh he'd been trying to hold together.

"Hold still. This will hurt."

Cauterizing will do that.

"It's gone." Whether it was or wasn't a goose wasn't important anymore. It was gone and probably not coming back. Not after Aether finished with it.

He cracked open an eye, too exhausted to really think about fighting about what was happening.

"Do you know what you're doing?"

It's not like he'll stop him, mind, he just wanted to know. Aa for holding still that's about all Simon can do right now. He's tired, he's cold, frankly he's amazed he's still slightly aware. The pain feels distant and foggy, like it was happening in a dream.

It's fine, he's not the one burning. Are you sure he can't just go to sleep?

"I know enough."

That is his talisman, he always knows. He knows enough, he knows what he's doing, he is aware he can do his damndest damn it. Gritting his teeth, he presses the cauterizing wand to the deepest wound before looking for the second deepest.

"You know me. Shouldn't you know that about me by now?"

That one earned a pained hiss, Simon stuffed the meat of his thumb between his teeth to keep from biting too hard on them. Anesthesia would have been nice, beggars can't be choosers though.

"I know," He wheezed, fading, confused. "I know you deny what's in front of you." Maybe he does know enough, he also likes to brush it off when it's convenient. Which wasn't really important right now, but then Simon was having some trouble figuring out what was and wasn't. Man, that goose really did a number on him.

Edited 2021-03-29 10:54 (UTC)

Richard Strand is a nice man.

He is. He's a fundamentally decent person despite a life of pain - he's aware of his privileges and his problems but there is always a sort of confusion and loss beneath his gaze. He has lost so much that he clings to the way the world works with a frantic devotion. An Acolyte of science.

zealots can get angry defending themselves.

A chaotic something oozes in his mind and he presses the cauterizer down on a wound not so deep. It's hard and fast but there's a damn good chance it will leave a burn but it's so quick and he withdraws it looking panickstricken.

"...It's not denial. There's always a rational explanation." He runs a hand over the cauterized marks, "...I think I was supposed to use that pen for anestetic."

Simon's been well behaved. He's been positively nice to Richard, all things considered. But it isn't for Richard's sake he's protecting him, it's Alex. And if Alex isn't here...

Well, Simon's tormented people for less than attacking him.

He flinches, though the pain was a dull ache among the rest the brief hint of malice got through loud and clear.

Denial will be your undoing. And so will willful blindness.

It was fast, the lights flickering, a shadow out of the corner of an eye followed by, for Richard, bright lights a loss of balance a loss pf control. Freezing ghostly claws only briefly touch his mind but Simon's done far worse for far less. Trent meant nothing. Richard's death might save them all.

The seizure is a warning. Don't do that again.

Richard. Don't be ridiculous. You little fool. His father's poisonous disdain hits him just as the touch of claws that hit his temporal lobe.

Something, something large and smoking, curling boiling flesh runs through his subconscious and his twitches before he drops his hands to the table, trying to stay upright and-

No.

Nope.

He crumples in a heap, like a dissolving figure. The voice of Coralee rings in his ears and Alex's voice hits and the wave of hope he feels can probably be felt by anyone looking. Anyone not looking.

Help.

Richard falls, and Simon watches. Slowly, agonizingly slowly he pushed himself up into sitting to watch. He let it linger for a while, just a bit, in part because he was still so very dizzy and trying to focus was like thinking through molasses. And in part to really let the point sink in. Then, with deliberate and ginger movements he got up. First thing was to stuff a handful of gauze in Richard's mouth, it just wouldn't do if he bit off his own tongue. Then to regard the medical equipment.

He could leave him there, he thought. But no, Navi was in distress because Richard was. So with a sigh Simon picked through the options until something lit up blue for him. A syringe of... something. While Simon was no medical expert he'd received enough emergency shots to have an idea of what to do. He was none too gentle, holding Richard down while he administered it, but it was done.

That should take care of it. Frowning down at Richard Simon went to perch back on the table, now picking up where Richard had left off with the cauterizing tool. At least he wasn't bleeding out anymore, so while he was still dizzy as hell and having a nightmare of a time trying to focus he wasn't dying.

Guess he does owe Richard for that much.

"You'll be fine." He chides, almost bored. Explain that one away, Richard.

Richard?

Richard is angry.

It doesn't take much to get him angry. He does have an assault charge on his record. So before he collects himself he pushes out with his mind. There's nothing he hates more than his sense of control being taken. Absolutely nothing.

It's probably nothing but there's an edge to his mind that speaks of untapped power - but it's gotten withered.

Of course he is, and of course he does. Simon already knew bits from the show, he knows Richard's got a fuse. Simon, however, does not allow himself to be pushed around. He didn't let his parents choose his fate, he isn't letting Richard do it either.

He hasn't gone this far just to kowtow to a man with more ego than sense. Simon may be tired, exhausted, wounded and weary and weakened. But he isn't weak. He sure as hell isn't going to give up the fight.

That push is met, and while Simon is aware of that edge he doesn't seem to care. He pushes back, lashes fiercely.

Enough. Hisses in his mind, a warning, a threat, a promise.

He's killed people for far less.

"I would expect a doctor to have a better grip on his temper." Simon said aloud, fixing Richard with that strange, unblinking stare of his. Leave him alone, he's busy finishing the job you couldn't.

"I'm not a medical doctor." He smirks weakly, arrogant to the end, as he sits on the floor and stares at him, "...How did you do it?"

He hesitates, actually hesitates, before tapping at his head.

"You know how." Is his only answer as he presses the searing device to another cut working to sear himself back into mostly one piece. He'd really like to just take some pain killers and sleep, but he should probably patch up as much as he can before he does that.

At least, it would seem, death's door has been left closed this day.

Though Simon will, mentally, give him credit for finally at least acknowledging where it came from. That's better than two years of living in the thick of it back home, he's somewhat impressed. Maybe Richard wasn't a completely lost cause.

"You have answers available to you."

He means the recorder, and yes Simon knows about it. Of course Simon knows. Creepy little stalker that he is.

He's been touched by something angelic and inhuman and he's in space,this place has ramped things up for him.

Glaring at him, he stands up, feet shaking. His mind is blank and he shakes his it off, slowly, the window opens, the door is open a crack before he stares at his shoes because He is not admitting he is afraid.

Never. Never in a million years.

event } the honk is coming from inside the ship

with permission!

Ayissssss Richie time

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TW: attack

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