James Moriarty (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hatesdeerstalkers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daybreakacademy2019-12-14 09:39 pm
hatesdeerstalkers) wrote in daybreakacademy2019-12-14 09:39 pm
Entry tags:
And you were afraid you'd step on cracks and tarnish their revere
Who: Moriarty and You!!
What: Recovery from nearly dying for real w/ the Galra event -
When: December 10th onward
Where: Infirmary, mostly
Warnings: There will mentions of arm regrowth in this post, probably? Also potential mentions about what happened during the Galra plot, so be warned :V
December 10th, Infirmary
[When he woke up again, all the chaos that had surrounded him before was gone.
Instead of a hard, cold floor and wall - he was resting on something much softer. A bed, probably - And while he hadn't been in here like this before, he still recognized the Infirmary when he saw it.
There was a lack of a certain sound - not a loud one, but one that should be constant. One like...oh, right.
He wasn't breathing. And the attempts to kickstart it again failed - as, most likely, his body was conserving what energy it could to keep him alive, though he felt miles better than he had when he'd finally been rescued.
Miles better was still 'pretty fucking terrible', though.
From there, it was just a quick check on his extremities. Still deathly pale, and missing his left arm - and a quick, shaky feel of his face told him that his glamour still wasn't up yet, so he still looked like a gray haired and blue eyed version of Sherlock, apparently. Which, honestly, had him wondering if James had eyes, because he was quite certain he didn't look like his greatest rival.
Still, there were other things to think about. Like the thirst that was plaguing him at the moment - which made sense, considering. He'd most likely been catatonic for a few days...maybe a week?
He hoped it wasn't years again.
So - taking a breath just to be able to speak - he spoke out in a rusty voice that sounded all too much like the vampire he could be mistaken for.]
....Hello? If anyone is there...could I get some water?
December 15th
[Three days later, he was doing much, much better. The magical transfusions were settling well with his body, though his glamour had yet to return to him - or his butterflies, for that matter. His threads still functioned, at least - but he had to concentrate hard to hear or feel anything through them.
No matter. It would all return in time, after all - and time was something he had in spades.
Sitting upright in bed, a little color having returned - and breathing naturally now - he worked on what seemed like notes for what he'd have to go over when he was able to return to teaching. He'd been assured there were professors who would step in for him, but...honestly, he didn't trust they'd be able to get across what he wanted correctly.
On his left side, his arm....Well. It was regrowing, at a rate that made him feel almost constantly itchy - and if one decided to stare at it for a bit, they could probably see it visibly regenerating, flesh and bone stretching and swelling a little at a time.
If someone approaches him, he'll look up - or not, as he's pretty absorbed into that notebook of his. Still, at least he's a lot livelier than when he first woke up.]
December 20th
[...Going into the infirmary today would greet you with a sight that might be a little disturbing - that being Moriarty with both hands....but his left is distinctly small and childlike while the other is a grown man's hand.
In the baby hand is a bunch of fabric, while he works with needle and thread in the other - making something that's....very small? It looks like it'll be well made whenever he's done with it, at least.
His glamor has finally returned, the much more familiar old, mustachioed man sliding back into place - with a brightness and warmth to him that he hasn't had in a while. His Butterflies still weren't back, but...
Every now and then, he stops - and holds up the item, muttering to himself about his handiwork before going back to it.]
Hopefully, I'll be able to finish this by christmas...though I suppose he wouldn't mind it being a bit after...? I should be released soon, so I'll also have to start on a few other things...
[Want to bother him? Go right ahead.]
What: Recovery from nearly dying for real w/ the Galra event -
When: December 10th onward
Where: Infirmary, mostly
Warnings: There will mentions of arm regrowth in this post, probably? Also potential mentions about what happened during the Galra plot, so be warned :V
December 10th, Infirmary
[When he woke up again, all the chaos that had surrounded him before was gone.
Instead of a hard, cold floor and wall - he was resting on something much softer. A bed, probably - And while he hadn't been in here like this before, he still recognized the Infirmary when he saw it.
There was a lack of a certain sound - not a loud one, but one that should be constant. One like...oh, right.
He wasn't breathing. And the attempts to kickstart it again failed - as, most likely, his body was conserving what energy it could to keep him alive, though he felt miles better than he had when he'd finally been rescued.
Miles better was still 'pretty fucking terrible', though.
From there, it was just a quick check on his extremities. Still deathly pale, and missing his left arm - and a quick, shaky feel of his face told him that his glamour still wasn't up yet, so he still looked like a gray haired and blue eyed version of Sherlock, apparently. Which, honestly, had him wondering if James had eyes, because he was quite certain he didn't look like his greatest rival.
Still, there were other things to think about. Like the thirst that was plaguing him at the moment - which made sense, considering. He'd most likely been catatonic for a few days...maybe a week?
He hoped it wasn't years again.
So - taking a breath just to be able to speak - he spoke out in a rusty voice that sounded all too much like the vampire he could be mistaken for.]
....Hello? If anyone is there...could I get some water?
December 15th
[Three days later, he was doing much, much better. The magical transfusions were settling well with his body, though his glamour had yet to return to him - or his butterflies, for that matter. His threads still functioned, at least - but he had to concentrate hard to hear or feel anything through them.
No matter. It would all return in time, after all - and time was something he had in spades.
Sitting upright in bed, a little color having returned - and breathing naturally now - he worked on what seemed like notes for what he'd have to go over when he was able to return to teaching. He'd been assured there were professors who would step in for him, but...honestly, he didn't trust they'd be able to get across what he wanted correctly.
On his left side, his arm....Well. It was regrowing, at a rate that made him feel almost constantly itchy - and if one decided to stare at it for a bit, they could probably see it visibly regenerating, flesh and bone stretching and swelling a little at a time.
If someone approaches him, he'll look up - or not, as he's pretty absorbed into that notebook of his. Still, at least he's a lot livelier than when he first woke up.]
December 20th
[...Going into the infirmary today would greet you with a sight that might be a little disturbing - that being Moriarty with both hands....but his left is distinctly small and childlike while the other is a grown man's hand.
In the baby hand is a bunch of fabric, while he works with needle and thread in the other - making something that's....very small? It looks like it'll be well made whenever he's done with it, at least.
His glamor has finally returned, the much more familiar old, mustachioed man sliding back into place - with a brightness and warmth to him that he hasn't had in a while. His Butterflies still weren't back, but...
Every now and then, he stops - and holds up the item, muttering to himself about his handiwork before going back to it.]
Hopefully, I'll be able to finish this by christmas...though I suppose he wouldn't mind it being a bit after...? I should be released soon, so I'll also have to start on a few other things...
[Want to bother him? Go right ahead.]
no subject
I can hardly...complain about someone's appearance...changing, after all.
[He gives a weak smile, though it doesn't reach his eyes.]
...I am ready.
no subject
He goes still as the red glow in those instruments gets brighter, magic flowing down into the crucible, passing through and steadily feeding into Moriarty's body as it's transformed. He doesn't breathe, or twitch, and as the process goes on it's easy to see why that is.
Ekkehardt's glamour is consumed as he focuses, the illusion of flesh crumbling to reveal bone as he draws on his reserves. The glow in his eyes is as bright as ever.
The process takes a little over fifteen minutes. When he finally relaxes, easing the connection closed, Moriarty should be feeling much better.
As for Ekkehardt, he's going to just sit back in the chair for a minute. By his body language, it's something that's taken a bit out of him. ]
no subject
...Then again, maybe it was something else. Maybe some Outlanders merely looked like skeletons. He couldn't quite tell - he hadn't delved that deeply into the other side of the world, preferring to stay in the Human one, where things made more sense.
He'll definitely have to learn more, now.
The vitality surging through his veins, though, feels like a rush of adrenaline at first - letting out something between a gasp and a sigh when he feels it settle into every part of his being, and feeling the faint itching from his left arm suddenly jump into sharp relief as it went from 'barely healing' to 'active regeneration'.
His back also felt less weak, though the pain suddenly flares back to life - making him give a strangled noise of pain, eyes glazing over as he suddenly plunged into the whiteness to escape. ...But, eventually, it fades away, and he seems to 'come back' to reality, blinking and looking over.]
...Will you be alright?
[He still looks like a corpse, himself - the color hasn't quite returned, yet - but at least he's talking without having to pause constantly. Ekkehardt, on the other hand, looks as if he just did some strenuous activity.]
no subject
I was blessed, you could say, with a vast reserve of magical energy, which is suitable for making transfusions this way. Among other things.
[ That emphasis on 'blessed' is a bit wry. As an undead, he's the furthest thing from blessed - and the death that led to him being a lich in the first place wasn't something he would have asked for. ]
How are you feeling? [ Moriarty's regeneration will take care of most things, he's sure, but he didn't exactly miss that noise of pain.
He holds out a hand, white light settling over Moriarty as Ekkehardt pushes his magic to seek out the most urgent injuries and encourage them to heal a little faster. At the very least, it provides a numbing effect to make things easier to bear. ]
no subject
I'm feeling -
[The healing was nice - and it kickstarted his arm into regenerating faster, more like the Vampiric echo it was supposed to be - but it also caused all of his regeneration to kick into high gear...including the magic encasing the remnants of his spine.
FUCK.
He suddenly stiffens in agony, hands clenching and unclenching the bedsheets, teeth clenched so hard together that one could hear them cracking. He can barely see past the whiteness - his recourse against agony - and though he can't speak, he hopes that ekkehardt can see this is doing more damage than help before he loses his mind again.]
no subject
Well!
My apologies. [ He sounds genuinely apologetic. ] I didn't expect your body would react that drastically.
no subject
...No, it's...fine. I had no idea it would be like that, myself...
[He gives himself a minute to compose himself, before speaking again.]
...Well, I suppose it might have something to do with...my circumstances. My spine is in a constant state of regeneration, as far as I'm aware...so perhaps the healing just aggravated it, somehow?
...My apologies. Despite being alive for so long, I only know so much about my own body.
no subject
I can scan you to see what exactly is wrong with your spine while you're here - with your permission, of course. It's a non-invasive procedure, so it shouldn't get the same reaction as healing magic.
no subject
[He shrugs, though it's weak - and a little nervous, after that.]
Feel free to look all you wish.
no subject
When he speaks, it's in the tone of someone who has discovered something and isn't sure whether it's professionally appropriate to express how horrifying it is. ]
A great deal of your spine appears to be...entirely missing. Not all of it, but a significant amount. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that your magic has mostly replaced it and is still attempting to heal the injury, despite its inability to complete the connection.
...I have to say, I've never seen this before.
no subject
[Of all the things Ekkehardt could have said while he was lying and waiting for the results...that was not what he expected.
More than that, his magic was what was acting in place of it? He really can't do much more than blink, though it was also facinating to think about.]
...I should assume so. I'm - a rather odd case, if I do say so myself.
[Re raises his hand, rubbing his chin.]
Most likely, it corroded over time...My spine was snapped shortly before I became...'undead?' so I wouldn't be surprised that it began to decay. It was most likely something even Vampiric regeneration couldn't fix - not with me essentially getting an echo.
no subject
[ Moriarty has been existent (it feels strange to say 'living') long enough for the spine to be in the process of decaying - probably quite old, then. It's not an uncommon problem for older undead to have trouble maintaining their own bodies without contingencies put in place, especially for those with flesh still on. ]
The issue, as I understand it, seems to be that your magic is attempting to renew the connections and fix the parts of your spine that do remain constantly, to no avail. [ He leans back. ] Fortunately, this is within my abilities to fix.
Unfortunately, it will require a fairly extensive operation.
I'll need to extract what remains of your spine, then replace it entirely with a prosthetic that will integrate into your body without rejection. [ You know, just replace the entire spinal cord, nbd ] It's not an untested operation, but it is quite an extensive one.
I'd like nothing less than full, informed consent on your part, should you decide to go through with it. To that end, I will provide any further information you'd like.
no subject
He stills for a moment, thinking about it.
A major surgery...not that he didn't mind, but the regeneration would be a problem - if he were kept alive.
And...not only that, but it would not just be him who would suffer through recovery, if he took it. He'd have to make Holmes aware of his condition, after all.
Taking in a breath, he nods.]
...I...believe I would be interested, but I wish to know more...and, also, it is not just my consent that you will be needing.
I am...linked, for a lack of a better word, to Arthur Bell. In truth...
[He hesitates, before deciding to just say it.]
I assume you are...a Lich, yes? Even if you aren't, I'll explain that Arthur functions as a sort of...hm. Living Phylactery? Yes, that sounds right. He is the reason I can come back to life after death, no matter what kind - as long as he lives, I live.
...However, he also shares pain and other sensations alongside me. And, of course, if something went wrong and if I somehow truly died...well, most likely he would perish along with me.
So I cannot say yes or no until I've discussed it with him.