Héctor (
unpocoloco) wrote in
daybreakacademy2019-01-19 09:37 am
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Entry tags:
I can't fit in this skin, It's worn and useless thin
WHO: Héctor and Peter (again), Héctor and Ekkehardt
WHERE: Aube and out by that old Gazebo hangout / the infirmary
WHEN: Nearly a week after the 28 days later mission
WHAT: A catch up and a Check Up TM with an absolutely miserable man.
WARNINGS: Spoilers and bones and corpses and likewise
For Peter
In theory, they probably could have talked on the plane when it was taking them back. But as it was happening he could only stare ahead, glassy eyes wide and a million miles away. Feeling like his heart was tearing more and more the further the plane flew, he didn't manage to even glance Peter's way.
Not to mention, it wasn't long before everything else kicked in, the undead poisons he breathed, his time limit, the simple memory of the undead being blown apart. At that point, his knees were drawn up as close as he could make them, his arms went hugging his gut, and his head bowed. His breath little more than a rasp, he spent the rest of that plane trip shuddering as the shimmers of gold flickered on off through him and offered no more than pained or sickly grunts after that.
It's a miracle he made it to the freezer, really, and this time he didn't wait to change for a second, simply tumbling into a dead heap in the cold. Days pass. And then nights too. His skin starts turning blue and his hair becomes stiff with frost and there is no doubt that what's in that cramped freezer is absolutely a corpse.
It's not the longest he's been down for, but it's certainly up there. He doesn't burst from the freezer this time. Instead, waking with that first gasp, his body rattles with the cold but otherwise it's a struggle to move. Blindly, he eventually finds the door and climbs out. He can hardly care how it looks to everyone else; he grabs the blankets off his bed and walks out with them and his guitar, still shivering with them wrapped around. It's probably a good thing it's the dead of night anyway. He's set to leave, go out and play Coco's song, when he stops and turns back.
He goes to Peter's door. Then stands there, wondering if he should knock when the kid might be asleep. Perhaps at some point Peter will find him instead, ice chunks still in hair. Or perhaps he'll catch him out the door.
For Ekkehardt
Just a few more nights later, once he thinks he's finally gotten his bearings and gathered... he's not even sure if it's courage but something, he makes his way to the infirmary at last. He's been here a few times but not for himself. Mostly for saying hello to anyway awake and peering out the door or to try and see if there's anything he can "borrow". Still, even that is a rare event. Doctors and Dead equaled bad, bad, very bad things.
Or at least, that's what he thought before. Seeing that shade of Ekkehardt before, he hasn't entirely been able to get it out of mind. He's also simply reaching a point where things are hard right now and if the only thing he can deal with is his bones, then maybe it was time to deal with that.
And so, he's here, in the late evening when most are asleep. He hopes. He breathes deep, swallows nervously, then pushes through the door.
"Señor Ekkehardt? Are you in?"
WHERE: Aube and out by that old Gazebo hangout / the infirmary
WHEN: Nearly a week after the 28 days later mission
WHAT: A catch up and a Check Up TM with an absolutely miserable man.
WARNINGS: Spoilers and bones and corpses and likewise
For Peter
In theory, they probably could have talked on the plane when it was taking them back. But as it was happening he could only stare ahead, glassy eyes wide and a million miles away. Feeling like his heart was tearing more and more the further the plane flew, he didn't manage to even glance Peter's way.
Not to mention, it wasn't long before everything else kicked in, the undead poisons he breathed, his time limit, the simple memory of the undead being blown apart. At that point, his knees were drawn up as close as he could make them, his arms went hugging his gut, and his head bowed. His breath little more than a rasp, he spent the rest of that plane trip shuddering as the shimmers of gold flickered on off through him and offered no more than pained or sickly grunts after that.
It's a miracle he made it to the freezer, really, and this time he didn't wait to change for a second, simply tumbling into a dead heap in the cold. Days pass. And then nights too. His skin starts turning blue and his hair becomes stiff with frost and there is no doubt that what's in that cramped freezer is absolutely a corpse.
It's not the longest he's been down for, but it's certainly up there. He doesn't burst from the freezer this time. Instead, waking with that first gasp, his body rattles with the cold but otherwise it's a struggle to move. Blindly, he eventually finds the door and climbs out. He can hardly care how it looks to everyone else; he grabs the blankets off his bed and walks out with them and his guitar, still shivering with them wrapped around. It's probably a good thing it's the dead of night anyway. He's set to leave, go out and play Coco's song, when he stops and turns back.
He goes to Peter's door. Then stands there, wondering if he should knock when the kid might be asleep. Perhaps at some point Peter will find him instead, ice chunks still in hair. Or perhaps he'll catch him out the door.
For Ekkehardt
Just a few more nights later, once he thinks he's finally gotten his bearings and gathered... he's not even sure if it's courage but something, he makes his way to the infirmary at last. He's been here a few times but not for himself. Mostly for saying hello to anyway awake and peering out the door or to try and see if there's anything he can "borrow". Still, even that is a rare event. Doctors and Dead equaled bad, bad, very bad things.
Or at least, that's what he thought before. Seeing that shade of Ekkehardt before, he hasn't entirely been able to get it out of mind. He's also simply reaching a point where things are hard right now and if the only thing he can deal with is his bones, then maybe it was time to deal with that.
And so, he's here, in the late evening when most are asleep. He hopes. He breathes deep, swallows nervously, then pushes through the door.
"Señor Ekkehardt? Are you in?"
no subject
Does he ever get tired? It doesn't seem like he does. It's late, and he's clearly had some work to do, but he's fresh as ever.
"I am, as it turns out. What can I do for you, Héctor?"
no subject
"I... considered your offer."
He glances around the room. "Is there some place... private?"
no subject
He leads Héctor past the room of the infirmary with the more public beds (all empty, thankfully) to a hallway lined with doors. He opens one and walks into the room first - it's not usually what he does, but he's giving Héctor one last chance to decide if it's really what he wants to do.
He won't force it.
Provided the other man does enter, the door will close silently behind him, glowing briefly with light.
"Now, what problems are you having?"
no subject
But he follows Ekkehardt in and watches the way the door glows. A lock? A silencing spell? Something else? Whatever it is, he doesn't get to ask.
He rubs nervously at his arm. "Well I... I have a few older injuries. Just a few small fractures. Maybe you'd know what to do with them?" He puts on a bracing smile.
no subject
"If you're worried about it hurting, rest assured I've become an expert at treating broken bones. I try to keep pain at a minimum."
no subject
He breathes in, then out. "Okay." Okay... Here he goes.
"Well I... may... have broken... my leg." He bends and pulls up his pant leg up to his knee. "The tibia is snapped." He points along it, though it's not the easiest to tell without an x-ray. "I kind of sorted it out, but the fibula, it's... loose? Like, it keeps popping out on me-- not through the skin, obviously, but it's not connecting the way it should and I can't make it go back and stay back." He huffs in frustration, like one talking about a bad door hinge that won't stop squeaking.
He rises up a little and hops to re-steady himself from that. He pushes back a sleeve. "My ulna, here, that's cracked too, but honestly that's not too bad, I just want to be sure since I--" let a zombie chomp down on it. "Got into a scrape with it recently. Other than that... I've got a split rib here." He feels that out through his clothing, that rib settled just at the front. "And, one back here, the lowest one. I'm not sure it's still in place right." He knows it's not. He lost that rib a long time ago and it's not coming back. But normal people don't just lose ribs like that.
"Also, some teeth but you're not a dentist." He laughs nervously. "Really, it's just the fibula I'm worried about. You know. It can be hard to walk with. I'd be okay with a cane, if I need it." He probably needs it.
He thinks nothing of the fact that most people wouldn't know the exact break locations, let alone the names of their bones.
no subject
He can probably get away with this, then.
He reaches out with his magic, a glint of red glimmering in one of the eyeslits of his mask as he focuses his will on confirming those injuries. Hands lightly moving over the body without quite touching.
"You've done quite a bit of damage to yourself over time, but I can fix those easily enough. You'll need to walk carefully for a while - a cane would be a good idea, just for safety - but you'll be fine, otherwise.
There's no getting that rib back for you, I'm afraid, since I don't know where you lost it."
He sits back, dismissing his glamour with a wave of his hand, letting the illusion of flesh dissipate like fine mist. He smiles the same as ever, head tilted slightly.
"But I suspect it's not that vital a loss."
no subject
It's not until his lost rib is mentioned that he thinks something off here. And then the man changes.
His breath catches and he starts, staring as his eyes take in the sight of bone. "You're... you're dead. You really are dead. I thought you were!" He almost sounds victorious, before his brain catches up. He looks sheepish, wincing. "Ah, I'm sorry. I hope it wasn't recent?"
He hasn't had to be that particular kind of sensitive for a while. But all this means...
"...You know I'm dead too, don't you?"
no subject
It's a bit of a morbid way to describe it, but, well. It is what it is. "You can relax, if that's what you were nervous about. Rest assured, I'm not going to tell anyone."
no subject
Well, that's as good an invitation as any. He breathes deep, closes his eyes, and draws on that power. Markings light up from under the skin of his face, swirls and dots of color, and soon after, every bone beneath his skin is lighting too in a soft gold. The flesh eases off the bone and all those useless organs simply disappear. He sighs as the literal and metaphorical weight lifts.
A skeleton is in his place now, looking far more at ease than the man that was there. Seeming to be carved into face are those markings from before, colorful even without the light. The exposed bone of his arm has some sort of bandage tape holding it together, and his leg is held with duct tape. Unfortunately, he's also swimming in his clothing now, these things not made for a purely skeletal frame. That's going to take a minute to roll those sleeves higher. Then, he turns a slight grin to Ekkehardt and says, "Ten years, me. I guess I did make it obvious. It's a hard habit to break once you start actually trying to keep track of what's what."
no subject
But I'd wondered what that glow was. Being able to switch between forms is certainly interesting..."
Ekkehardt rolls up his sleeves with quick, efficient motions, switching his usual red gloves for white ones. Unlike Héctor's transformation, rolling up his sleeves reveals only bandages underneath. They glow with runes, a shell that mimics the shape and curve of flesh.
"...but it seems like more of a hindrance than a help in your situation, however," he notes dryly, taking stock of the injuries. He mercifully says nothing judgemental about the fact that he appears to be half held together with tape.
He gestures, indicating that Héctor should hold his injured arm out to be treated first.
no subject
"It's got good and bad," He admits. "Easier not to lose pieces when it's stuck inside, but on the other hand my leg really only hurts when I'm in that form and the bones don't have the freedom for doing things they shouldn't."
He lifts his arm, holding out easily for Ekkehardt.
"I can pass for living, but it also wears me out faster. You can stay up all day, right? I can't." Maybe he ought to be jealous of that, but he doesn't know the terms of existence Ekkehardt's got to deal with. "Oh, uh, now that this is out in the open, actually, I was kind of concerned about something else? My bones have been getting pretty dusty and porous in a few places. I don't know if there's anything to be done about that, I'd just rather not go to dust sooner than I've got to."
no subject
He hums thoughtfully, removing the tape and lightly touching fingertips to the break on the other man's arm. White light sparks around the injury as he pushes it to heal and grow; it's not what he'd do for his own injuries, but since Héctor still has a living body in some capacity, he'll encourage use of the body's own functions first.
"I can put a binding on the affected areas, to stop further damage and encourage regrowth. Magical, naturally, so it doesn't interfere with your ability to pass as a living person. Would that suit you?"
no subject
"So, yours is more like a spell. An illusion?" And speaking of, his eyes go wide to see that white light and the way his bones mends together. He reaches out, hesitant as though afraid he might undo it somehow. But it holds and wonder lights his face.
He looks back up to Ekkehardt. "That sounds..." He feels breathless. "...really good. Wonderful actually. Will it last?" He honestly wouldn't be too put out even if it doesn't.
no subject
"Exactly. Yours is real for as long as your power lasts. I can only imitate a living body's functioning with my glamour - I don't feel it." He doesn't seem particularly bothered by the difference; he says it casually, almost clinically.
Now for the leg. He kneels to fix this one, focusing as he traces the range of intended movement, visualising how it needs to work and taking the necessary steps to push it back to how it should be.
"It will last until it's no longer needed. I'll need to inspect its progress now and then, to make sure it was the right treatment, but other than that it requires little maintenance on my part." It's a reliable spell pattern; he's used it before many times, though usually not on undead patients.
no subject
He nods along. Until it's no longer needed. That probably means until he heals or dies for good. But you know, that sounds less ominous than it does like something hopeful.
Again his breath catches, this time on a laugh of relief. Just like that his leg goes back together, all pieces of it. He looks to Ekkehardt, then back down. He takes a step forward on it and although his body instinctively tries to compensate, it still holds.
"Santa Maria," He breathes. "This is incredible. Thank you! I... I don't how to even begin to repay you." He'll still need that cane, as Ekkehardt told him, and he'll still need to be careful, but... oh, he feels like running now, just to see if he can.
no subject
He shakes his head at the other man's mention of repayment. "It's my profession - I require no repayment. I'd be a bad healer if I let those who need my help go untreated." It was unprofessional; sloppy. It's not something he can abide, being the way he is, knowing something could have been treated and is not.
He stands, moving around the room to go collect that cane. He doesn't seem to need to measure the other man, having apparently gotten the measure of him in height already.
no subject
"But...I don't know about everything. There's got to be one thing, at least, to hang on to." A single thing to pivot all these changes around. A center of sorts. He shrugs, moving along and pulling that smile back.
"You've been waiting for me a while, haven't you?" He says, the brow bone lifting over the fact the cane is just there, ready. "Let me do something. It's what mi familia would do in the outlands, help out with some thing or another."
no subject
It's difficult. He'd taken to it well, but others had not. He remembers that.
"A singular motive, or a feeling...Some do it for vengeance, or survival. Duty. Remembrance. Love."
He sets the cane down next to the other man. There's an odd lightness on the way he says 'love' in particular, a sort of fondness he doesn't hide.
(After all, it's what he chose.)
"If you're really so bound to the idea of a favour, I'll certainly keep it in mind. But don't feel so obligated. It's hardly necessary."
no subject
He's got no more idea now than he did back then. Vengeance, survival, duty-- none of those things applied to him like others. But he can't miss the way Ekkehardt softens like that to say love. He does too, smiling with that bittersweet ache in his ribs.
"Heh, if you say so." But he'd like to. Dead folks like them had to stick together.
He takes the cane, fingers curling around its handle. It's emboldening, not weakening. Kind of like-- "So love, huh? The same for me. Sort of. My girl is what's really kept me together these past ten years."
no subject
"I can't say I know exactly that's like, myself. I'm entrusted with the care of children who have little else left to them besides the family I serve, but I doubt they see me as a parent. More of a big brother than anything, I think."
Not quite the same, but it's still love. For the family he serves, for the children under his care. It's what drives him in the end, the desire to protect.
no subject
And it's one he can see too. Which is why he makes a face and waves a hand as Ekkehardt goes on. "Ah, family is family! Don't sell your love short like that, my friend! I think you and I both know that if they're your center, they're your world. And if that's the case I'm sure you mean very much to them."
And as Ekkehardt sounds to still be in touch, he's got no doubt that's true. Unlike himself.
"Besides, I'd have loved a big brother when I was a kid. I had an older friend but I always taught him more than he taught me." And he turned out to be a jerk. So it goes.