sample call; open

[luciformis]

» WHO? Team Science (Hank, Alucard, and Ryo) + anyone willing to give samples.
» WHEN? Mid-outbreak.
» WHERE? Research & Medical.
» WHAT? Give them your blood/tissue/newly acquired alloy.
» WARNINGS? Gore, body horror, blood, etc. Medical-related practices.



START.

[ Push notifications are sent out during the upswing of the outbreak from familiar usernames. Among the first belongs to @r.asuka, with @alucard and @beast cc'd. Unsurprisingly, his message is (as usual) to the point. What is unusual, however, is that he uses his voice. For those who have not heard him before, his words are smooth and level — calm. There's an undercurrent of conviction in it, a sort of self-possessed air. He doesn't seem frightened at all.

Hello.

We have reason to believe that we've come upon an epidemic. For those unaffected, if you can't remain in your rooms, consider leaving with a facial barrier. You can make these from fabrics you have available, but these won't guarantee your safety. For those affected: limit your contact with others. We have only theories on how it spreads and evolves.

Consequently, those who wish to help us find a solution are welcome to come with the necessary precautions to Research & Medical. We'll be able to talk further about what we'll need from you there.

Thank you. ]

I.

[ Those who wish to give their blood or tissue samples to the individuals here (Hank, Alucard, and Ryo) are more than welcome to ask for any mixture of their attention. If you have no preference for who takes the samples, of course you're more than free to comment as you'd like.

Maybe you've already given your samples and just want to ask questions about it? Or maybe you want to ask about the progression of the disease on your end? The station is your space oyster, kid. ]

II.

[ Or, maybe, you just want to see what any of these individuals know about the spread of the illness or what they're attempting to achieve? Go for it, right? What's the worst that can happen? You might learn a few new things or you might learn a few things you really don't want to know. You're free to come in and ask or just text. Either way, someone is bound to answer you. ]

III.

[ Aches and pains got you down? Maybe you just came in to get away from the smell, sights, and so on. Maybe science soothes your soul. Or, perhaps, you might just want to see if there's any other medical supplies that might aid you in your time of need. Got a limb problem? Certainly, one of them has to have experience. ]

IV.

[ Anything else? Comment around as you like. That goes for any of the above. These are just starting points for you and yours.

Or, in brief: top level as you'd like. ]

Comments

@ryo: this is actually gross y'all been warned

[ryuji]

[He's seen better days. Like, a lot better days? actually. Depending on what you can really consider a day when light is being simulated on a station to give off the cheery disposition of a day cycle, or... well, whatever this metaphor is really supposed to mean. At this rate, he figures he should probably donate his body to science before more of it starts to reject itself, like his own skin didn't even want to be on him any longer (hey, that's a metaphor that sticks a little bit better, considering how uncomfortable Ryuji's been in his own up until recent Stuff). Maybe something he could contribute would help something... or someone down the line and that'll be good enough for him in the long run, so he'll do the thing he knows how to do (trust Ryo-yo to treat him delicately)

((which, wait, should he really being doing that? Is that a thing he should be trusting upon Mr. Scar-Should've-Killed-Simba?))

--- and head on down to the medical bay. He motions that a curtain be drawn, as he strides in with his kigurumi on, the hood pulled, and his bandanna loosely knotted to cover his face from the nose down.

And when there's some security to all of this, he sits on the table and looks up expectantly. Well, better get this over sooner rather than later, right? He zips down on the pajamas, revealing his chest- and where his heart is, it's brightly black with grotesque looking, equally dark veins spreading in every direction. Flesh, in multiple parts has begun rotting off, and the smell is... it's something else.

He also doesn't talk, but- that's another story. Text will have to do.]

My jaw's comin off so like... I'm not gonna sit here grunting at you like an actual zombie

zombyuji...

[luciformis]

[ Ryuji's appearance isn't something he necessarily counted on, but also not something he necessarily discounted. Illness brings out latent traits in humans, the peevish and disagreeable parts of them. It brings out for others tears, helplessness.

For Ryo, it's difficult for others to say what it brings out. But, it's brought out something in the individual who has never once been struck down before, but it isn't for himself. No, the persistent drive is there for someone else. And in a way, it had always been. And so, that Ryo is found here isn't surprising. That, when he isn't with Akira, he's here and working through what is unknown to all of them. It's all he can do.

It's all he can try to do.

As Ryuji comes in, pulls the curtains around them for privacy and quiet, Ryo waits for him to settle in and show him what he's come to inevitably surrender to him. But, unlike the dramatic ailments that Ryuji displays as he tugs down his zipper (and it is so much like Akira in that way), Ryo's are much more subtle.

With Ryo, there's occasional bursts of corporeality. More often than not, there's pockets of him that keep out of existence. His left hand comes and goes, flickering from view like a pale porch light. His right hand is down to the second knuckles on the last two fingers, evident even with the glove as it passes through the light, but he makes due with what he has. It isn't difficult for Ryo to adjust to adversity.

He's done it his whole life.

In some ways, Ryuji's picking Ryo was a sounder call. Ryo, who had dealt death and seen death, doesn't blink at the mess that's laid out before him. He doesn't wince. His eyes don't water. He'd long become used to the smell of putrefied flesh, the sight of scales and fur between jaws strong enough to rend him. He only reaches for the tray on the table beside him, what solid remnants of his fingers remaining hooking over the shallow rim and pulling it back to him before this hand too decides to pair the left. ]

Texting is fine, [ he says, the words caught in the mask he wears. Still, there's a tighter current beneath it then there usually is, no matter how smooth his voice is. It is difficult to tell what is impacted there, but there's a crown of transparency through the pale of his hair. The light behind him casts through his hair in dappled waves across what is arguably left of Ryuji beneath his clothes. He doesn't say anything else for a moment, but he leans forward just enough to assesses the progress. The light shifts with him each time he does, odd spots moving sluggishly across what parts of his face are exposed above the white of the fabric he'd long settled across his mouth and nose. ] You'll have to tell me what you're comfortable giving me to test.

[ By this point, there's been numerous samples given. Each haven't promised much, beyond what Ryo had already expected. There was no means of containing what was already out, not at the rate at which it spread. It reminded him in some respects of the cellular fusions he'd been made aware of back home, each successful host a prime candidate for evolutionary growth. Each strain he'd observed had been different, profoundly so. Even when the symptoms overlapped, there was something peculiar about them all.

And for Ryo, who kept his frustrations just beneath the surface on a good hour, knew that the only way they could find a solution was to keep trying, testing. He knew if they could not reverse its impact — he doesn't dwell on it. He won't. He can't. ]

[ryuji]

[It's one thing to talk about science, to ask dumb questions about how things work like Ryo is a constant episode of Mythbusters, and it's another thing to see him with a mask pulled over his face, taking patients as he's ready to dissect the findings of their unique conditions. There's something that he trusts so innately when it comes to Ryo, that should this have been anyone else, he probably would have just let this virus take its course and let him die out the same way that he was rotting from the inside.

He knows he's getting to the point where it's going to happen sooner rather than later, so maybe what he's going through can somehow... help someone else? He can't see the station coming back to revive him after this. His reference point is Rogue, whose body was intact when she woke up again. There's going to be nothing to return to for Ryuji, and he's.

Well, scared really isn't the right word for this?

And being put in that mindset that maybe he's ready to die, even though there's so many things he still wanted to do, was just about the worst possible thing he could ever imagine. There were still things left. Unresolved things. He wanted so much more time with... well... if he's honest with himself? Probably Dave. Probably his friends. He's trying not to feel the weight of all the lives he wouldn't get to live crushing down on his shoulders, and shit, it's hard. He can't even tell the people he really loves just how much he does before it happens.

He looks up at Ryo, eyebrows leaning upwards. Is it pretty obvious to tell that he's sad? Is it pretty obvious to tell that he feels utterly powerless that he couldn't save anyone, not even himself. Not that the latter ever really factored into anything he calculated when he took risks, but still. That Ryo is refracting in front of his eyes and people he knows have lost the ability to stay corporeal... it's all way, way too goddamn much to swallow.]

Yeah. Take whatever you want.

I don't think I'm gonna need it much longer anyway.

[luciformis]

[ There's something that hardens in the corners of Ryo's expression as he reads what Ryuji adds. It is a cold and opaque thing, like the frozen cast of salt caps. His eyes linger on the communicator longer than they should.

He recalls the soft, hiccuping sobs at the back of Akira's throat.

You knew it was gonna die, Ryo had told him. But, Akira had denied it. He wanted the thing to suffer it out to the end, in hopes it would make a miraculous recovery. He'd wanted it so terribly to live —

Ryo-chan, you're crying too!

He wasn't, he'd said.

I'm not crying now either, he tells himself and focuses on the task at hand. But, what comes out of his mouth is odd, dissonant. He knows that Ryuji will die without a solution, but he doesn't allow himself to think the same of Akira. He's already decided that — ]

I took painkillers earlier, [ he says, after a long moment. To anyone who doesn't know him, the intonation seems absent, as though Ryuji had just admitted to him that he prefers the cold bite of winter to the verdant warmth of spring. There's a colorlessness to the blue of one eye for a moment as he leans in close enough to consider a loose flap of skin between his thumb and forefinger. It shouldn't hurt when he removes it. The tissue itself had long since died, the bloom of black blood directed elsewhere. He leans back again, if only to maneuver the scalpel from the tray on his lap into his good hand. He doesn't look up. ] I have extras back at the room. [ He turns the scalpel over in his palm, cuts across the necrotic tissue with one, smooth movement. He pins it to the flat of the blade with his thumb, pulls it back to settle on the tray.

He turns in his seat, places the whole affair up on the table where he'd originally taken it. All that remains with him is the needle Ryuji's certain to know he's comfortable with by now. When Ryo turns back to him again, it's only to focus on prepping it. He'd made himself familiar with basic medical procedures after Akira had lost his arm and after he himself had started getting injuries he could no longer explain to medical professionals. Taking blood from other living things in his studies too wasn't too dissimilar. He won't tell anyone that, but few complained considering their options now. Still, he continues. ] They should be enough to dull the worst of it.

[ There's a stubbornness there. It shows up in his mannerisms, the way nods without looking to the band he'll have Ryuji put on to take the last of what he needs. There's a refusal there at the notion that death was a possibility, though for who — ] Find a good vein.

[ The dim light of the lab flickers through the pale skin of his neck, bites through the shells of his ears where the pale of his hair does not cover them.

He says nothing else. ]

[ryuji]

[He doesn't know what he was expecting out of Ryo when it came down to it. There's a coldness there, but also compassion, and he knows that he's trying to juggle a lot of things all the same time. His reticence to showing the simplest of human traits? That's a coping mechanism if he's ever seen one. Even if this is his last moments laid out before him, he figures it's not worth it to try and make a deeper connection out of things. It's simple, right? He's the Simba here, too weak to actually go on, and that's more of a fact than an argument made from a passionate stance or anything like that.

Ryuji supposes though, that if he was being offered drugs to numb the end of things, that it's probably not a bad idea. Ryo offering that was still a pretty big thing; even he can sense that. There's no wincing when his skin is peeled off, since he's lost feeling pretty much globally around his body. He doesn't even bleed when it happens; it was like an orange coming undone from a peel, and the sight of it is more disturbing than the actual action of going through with it.

He looks up at Ryo, shaking his head. It's not that he wants to be a pain in the ass, but as he drops his smartwatch on the table, he uses his hand to unfurl more of his pajamas, revealing a very obvious severance that had happened at his shoulder, literally glued in place but otherwise useless.]

I'll take you up on those painkillers if you're offerin

Sorry about the vein

Can't really do much to help right now

[luciformis]

[ There wasn't a point, was there? At the end of all things, what good was trying to make a connection to something that wouldn't live? It's obvious, the more that Ryuji reveals to him. His eyes are drawn naturally to the way he'd reconnected his arm and part of Ryo thinks it was pointless. Glue, of all things. Keeping the tissue intact was foolish enough, but cementing the rotting limb to what minor possibilities there were for healthy skin likely only increased its spread exponentially.

And yet, Ryo recognizes sadness in other people. He recognizes it in Ryuji too, but there's something peculiar in the way that it weighs on him. Sorrow was not something that existed, as much as love was not something that could be felt. Both were only a constellation of chemical constructs, a latticework of abstract and social shapes. Ryo could not contact them because there was nothing that could be quantified, objectively defined. He told himself that these were false.

There was no reason to be sad, because life had logical endpoint. And yet, his actions ran contrary to the core of natural selection through scientific interference and mutual benefit. It's a hypocrisy that he doesn't explore, but it is a hypocrisy that is dealt in in that he still collects samples at all from one he knows who dying and one he knows — he places the needle back and opts instead for a lancet. He won't be getting much this way, but he doesn't have to. ]

Once we're done here, I'll bring them to you, [ he says, his eyes finally lifting to look at Ryuji. His gaze is steady, focused. It is not dampened by the light needles through, confirms where it is he's looking thereafter. Ryuji's arm is the next point of attention. Ryo shifts close enough to run the pads of his remaining fingers over the front of the severance's circumference. The touch is only there for a moment before it is gone again, as though he were only assessing for any kind of movement. ] I won't be able to take from this arm. The blood would have already coagulated. [ He draws back, pauses. He glances down toward Ryuji's feet. ] Which foot is numbest?

[ He won't compromise Ryuji's other arm if he doesn't have to. He knows the degree of difficulty doing anything at all with a singular hand (and only three fingers) to work with. ]

[ryuji]

[Look, he knows that reattaching his lifeless arm onto his body was a really fucking dumb idea, and he doesn't need a doctorate or advanced study in medicine to realize that it's only going to make things worse. But it's his arm. If he's going to go, he wanted some amount of dignity to take with him so that his corpse didn't look as horrible as it was going to look. It's a sentimental gesture at best, and Ryuji is just chock full of those. He had a lot of good times with that appendage. He just wants to feel whole for a little bit, before...

Well, that's another dumb thought. Here he is, sitting in the medbay, the only thing dividing himself from the rest of the station being a dumb curtain, and that's the idea he's going to latch onto? Right, cool. Pull yourself together, dude. And when Ryo touches him there, nothing registers, like the nerve endings don't even perceive that there's pressure applied to his skin, no matter how little or how much of it was actually there.

Time to crack a joke, because that's what he does.]

Dead weight lol

[And with that really fucking stupid text sent over (wow, just think- if all that there is to remember Ryuji is going to be a bunch of really rambling texts and off colored sincerity mixed into things he should've put his foot into his mouth for, that's going to be Sad), he leans down and one-handedly unstraps the latch to his boots. It's his bad leg, of course. Why wouldn't it be his bad leg? The world would be too kind for it to be otherwise, and with a hearty kick downwards, the apparatus falls off with a clunking thud to the ground. Then come the socks, and... yeah, he definitely hadn't taken his boots off in fear of this sort of thing. The way skin sticks to the cotton is really fucking gross. He looks at Ryo almost apologetically.

And maybe Ryo doesn't really care for closure or anything like that, but Ryuji kind of does, so he fumbles out another text to him.]

Ryo-yo. Thanks. Y'know for like, everything, not just this. I'm sorry for all the stupid questions you had to suffer through me askin'. You probably ain't got much sense for how much you mean to other people, but

You mean a lot to me, okay?

I only thought you were kinda like this really hard nut to crack, and maybe I fucked up there thinkin' that I had a chance, but... you're a good friend. Thank you for bein' a good friend.

[luciformis]

[ There's so much another person could say, but Ryo isn't like most people. He never has been. And perhaps that's why what greets Ryuji in response is decidedly blunt and scathingly practical. ]

I could have reattached it for you, [ he says, almost automatic. He's done it before. He doesn't provide that and knows demonic physiology was more to blame for its success than his own knowledge of anatomy, but he knows he would have at least done a better job. He could have removed the radius of rotted tissue. It would have made the resulting spread less painful. It would have at least bought him some initial comfort. He shouldn't care. He doesn't, he tells himself. It's just logical. ] It wouldn't have done any good, but it would have left less mess than the glue.

[ Well, the joke doesn't quite hit in the way that it would have typically. He doesn't sigh or give him a flatter look. Instead, his focus is on the removal of Ryuji's boot. Ryo watches as he peels back the sock and knows that this is fairly typical. No matter the mutation, the results were always roughly the same: black blood, gangrene starting at the extremities. He doesn't understand why Ryuji's apologetic for the mess he's revealing. He knows worse than this intimately, having once been baptized in the shower of bright blood.

Even still, there's another text that comes and Ryo reads it. He's quick to do it, like he always is, but there's no delay in the way he turns his head back to what he's supposed to be doing. He lifts Ryuji's foot up to his view by the ankle, transfers it to the solidity of his other wrist (covered as it is). He doesn't seem like he's going to react at all to it, but there's a gentle crease that forms between his eyebrows as he ducks down, pricks the heel of Ryuji's foot to get a sample as requested. He doesn't think he needs to warn him considering the state of decomposition, but even still he might have signaled for it with the fainter nod of his head.

It doesn't take long, at least. No matter how sluggishly the blood flows, he gets what he needs of it. It shouldn't take much to stop. It probably wouldn't matter even if it didn't. With that done, he sets it foot back down and leans back, places the sample where it'll do good later on and seals it with the curve of his wrist.

He doesn't fully return his attention to Ryuji, but the silence splinters without any indication that it would again. ]

I'm not, [ he says and the declaration drops like a stone. I'm not a good friend. I'm not good. All of his life, he had been hated. He knows why. And he hadn't minded. Humans were self-destructive and spiteful things, but he'd found peculiar pockets of warmth. Akira. And now, in some strange manner, Sakamoto. But, he doesn't say it in a way that would be read as self-depreciative. He doesn't say it in a way that he thinks he should be pitied for it. He just says it. He tugs his mask down, reveals the speckling of transparency that cuts through his jaw. It dots at the corners of his mouth, reveals a thin run of gold beneath the flesh of his bottom lip. He looks like fractured pottery, a perversion of mending arts. He stands up, peels off his gloves to dispose of them in the nearest bin. Ryo still doesn't look over at him. ] Put your boot back on, Sakamoto. [ There's the beginnings of fading corporeality in his right palm, but it ebbs back like a tide. Without the mask on, he almost looks tired. ] I'm cleaning up, but you can lead me back to where you're staying when I'm done.

[ It'll be easier to get the medication to him that way, he justifies. Knowing where he is, that is. People shifted about all the time. No sense in looking around the station. ]

[ryuji]

[He doesn't respond at all reflexively when Ryo takes a sample of blood from him. There's no pain, no feeling, no nothing at all to really register that it's even happening aside from the visual cue of his rotted hemoglobin coming out into the lancet. He came earlier to get checked out, but back then, the needle kind of scared him. He didn't want to feel it getting underneath his skin, and had winced when it happened. Now, it's just an indifferent thing. Like, yeah, that's my foot. That's my blood. What about it?

Ryuji making a round of last goodbyes, then, being met with that same seeming amount of indifference isn't really shocking to him at all. He doesn't argue with Ryo, this isn't standing in front of a replicator trying to get him to gobble down a few slices of pizza, this is just... it's who he is. Maybe it meant more to Ryuji than it did to Ryo, which is... well, fatalistic, right? Did it matter what he left behind in peoples' memories of him at all? He'd been erased from existence once before, where his world began melding the world of cognition and reality. When he wasn't believed in any longer, he didn't have a reason to be there anymore. And so he waited, in a jail cell, beating himself up over... everything, really.

But it just feels different this time. And he doesn't really know why.

So even if he does go, he wants to be remembered for how much he smiled. How loyal he was to the people he cared about. If his memory lived on in other people, it was. It was proof, right? That you existed. That something mattered in a time and a place where nothing else did.

He doesn't hate Ryo. He couldn't. And he's sorry that he had to come from a world that everyone did to make him the way he is.

Ryuji carefully pulls his sock back on, trying hard not to make a quick movement or be too forceful about it. Losing his leg right now would be... really bad timing. It takes a while, but his boot is back in place, strapped on and unrelenting in its grasp over his foot. He'll sit and watch Ryo a little bit from here, having said what he wanted to say. And maybe he never has the ability to shut the hell up, but for once, he just doesn't have something to do. He leans forward a little, hunching, because his posture has never been that great, and watches sparkles of gold in various parts become resilient. He kind of thinks it's beautiful? Even in its horrific glory, even if the virus was dismantling Ryo in a different way than him, he still thinks it.

And with a drawing breath, he hopes that Ryo makes it. He hopes that Akira does too. He hopes that they're both strong enough to survive this so that they keep going on. If there's anyone out there that can find a fix, it has to be Ryo.

When the time comes, he slides himself off the table and stands upright. It's on a different deck, but it's always just been a few doors down from where Ryo and Akira live. He guesses his own room is a good as place as any. And the worst part about it? He wouldn't even know if Ren was there or not unless he wanted to make himself known.]

[luciformis]

[ What was memory?

Memory to Ryo was an abstract thing, colored with absence and inconstancy. As a child, he'd washed ashore as though a small sliver of pale sea glass. When he awoke, he had no name. He had no origin. He had no family to call his own. Ryo Asuka, as he came to be called, was a foreign child from a foreign shore and there was no manner or method through which any such hatred of him could have been alleviated as a result. Humans feared what they did not know. They feared what could not be told, the impregnable shadows both literal and figurative. And yet, there were some that wandered. There were some that sought out the edges of their own capabilities, that tread into the profundity of unknowns, themselves a small sun cutting through to the soft beds of oceans. When Ryo looked, he could only discern the vague impression of all that took root at the thinnest periphery. He could not speak what he himself did not know, encased in continual brine.

His first memory is Akira. He does not think about how he hopes it will be his last one too as he finishes up, cognizant of the weight of Ryuji's eyes upon him as though his own brokenness was something to be hoped after. He was stubborn, persistent — and certainly, he knew innately that that drive would be what stabilized him, Akira. And after that, he supposed, all and any left beyond the full of it. He does not think about who next any such cure would be dealt to. He does not think on it at all.

He does not want to.

And yet, Ryuji might have gotten his wish already, but Ryo is quiet. There are few that ever remained when they got to know Ryo even in part. But, Ryuji does. And Ryo, in all that he was accustomed to, is uncertain of why that is to start. There's nothing about him that should welcome Ryuji in, but somehow — somehow, it does. Like Akira, he too was stubborn. Persistent. An odd version of earnest that smoothed down all of Ryo's harsh edges so no matter how deeply he cut, he would never broach the skin. Ryuji, like Akira, had only smiled and had knew his intention. He thinks, in some ways, it was something that was inevitable. He thinks, in other ways, it should have never happened again in even the smallest extents.

As he walks with him, he knows that Ryuji's closer to death than he is. He knows, by the degree of absolute necrosis, that his odds of finding anything at all in time to provide relief to Sakamoto are slim. Still, he doesn't bid him off as they come up upon their mutual floor. What good would it do? Death was in some ways a small mercy when suffering itself was insurmountable. Ryo understood that. He'd understood it even as a child, though his heart ached odd and sharp in his chest at the thought of how much that cat had struggled and how devastated Akira had been. The weak were always destined to go before the rest.

That's just how it'd always been.

He doesn't take long when he enters his usual room. He isn't far from them, but Akira's lack of presence is obvious. There is no murmured greeting on the way in, no sort of pause. It is possible that he's out somewhere else, but Ryo knows where he is. He'd left him not too long before Ryuji had come in, had given him medicine to soothe his own pain no matter how little it did. When Ryo comes back, he's quiet. Each point of transparency has shifted. He doesn't say anything as he stops in front of him, unfurls his three remaining fingers to reveal large, white pills. They're numerous, marked with codes that Ryo understands. ]

Here, [ he says, belated. He doesn't quite frown, but the corners of his mouth dip as he examines him in the stronger light of the hall. ] Take two every six to eight hours. They should relieve most of the discomfort.

[ryuji]

[The last time Ryuji had painkillers was when they were administered to him in the hospital. Kamoshida had just broken his leg, and as the blood seeped through his uniform leg, his consciousness had passed in and out- he didn't even remember how he got home, just that he needed, so viscerally needed, to see his mom and get to a point of safety. She never told him, even when he asked, and maybe that was for the best. Maybe the holes of that memory don't need to be filled in, because the next thing he had consciously been able to recall was his eyes closed, laying in a foreign bed, as a doctor described to Mrs. Sakamoto that her son would have trouble walking for the rest of his life. That he wouldn't be able to run again. And how Ryuji kept his eyes closed because he was so, so deeply scared of seeing the expression on her face, but he could hear it in her voice. That he thought he let her down, disappointed her, mistaking a mother's love for that sort of unconscionable disgrace... it stuck with him.

He looks down at the pills that are offered to him. This reminds him of that moment, like how you tell your mind not to bring up bullshit at bad moments, and like a cat wanting entrance into a door, it just slams right into it until you let it in. Fingers closed, he accepts Ryo's gift. He doesn't have the wherewithal to tell him that it doesn't hurt. It just hurts inside, which is a different kind of pain; the feeling that he would be letting everyone else down by his own death. That's probably the true intention of his role as the chariot arcana to his friends. Unwavering determination on the outside, and weak points scattered on the inside like the lights that keep fracturing through Ryo.

And he thinks, then, if he takes these. It'll be to fall asleep.

Ryuji nods, because that's just about all he can do.

He also doesn't want to impede upon Ryo's research, or his fervor to find a cure for Akira, since it's obvious where his fate is heading towards and less clear about his devilish friend. He thought it before, and it strikes him now, again. Survive, dude.

And it's times like these that he wishes he could see Ren, since he always knew what to do. Or hold Dave's hand, because, fuck, that was a really nice and comforting thing to do. But from here on out, he thinks a nice view of space wouldn't be the worst thing in the world right now.

It's a short goodbye, one equipped with a Ryuji who tries to place a hand on Ryo's shoulder to thank him. Succeeding or failing that, he'll make his way to the observation deck and just.

Well, wait.]

cw: body horror, needles, medical procedures, gore/blood; open

[luciformis]

I.

[ In the first leg of the second stages, Ryo is found in the research wing when he isn't ostensibly with Akira, his fingers (when cooperative) sliding samples under microscopes to examine. For him, despite the odd flush of fever that sometimes breaks along his skin, the newer symptoms haven't seemed to catch him. At least, until one gets up close. Occasionally, there's an odd flicker of cartilage in place of the pale skin of his ear. Sometimes, there's the bright dotting of white bone along his jaw. However, there is one thing that is always consistent: the spots vanish within seconds, minutes. They don't linger, but they do move. They race along his extremities, like the flash of water to shore — apparent when he tucks his overgrown hair behind an ear, as he lifts his gloved hand to adjust the lens, the material of his jumpsuit dipping past the curve of his wrist.

He doesn't seem nearly as troubled as many who come through the doors, but the closer one gets the more they might realize that the disease as impacted him in ways slightly different from the rest. There's a warm settling of discolored blood beneath his skin in the lapse of each fever, but... ]

What is it? [ He'll ask, if someone lingers too long. He won't lift his attention from the microscope, but his hand will still on the dial. He's listening, if they have any questions to ask. ]

II.

[ As time presses on, the illness comes to stagger strangely across the pale of Ryo's skin. It moves in a wave, the relative transparency of flesh and muscle — bone. It eclipses and waxes. It wanes. It casts dappled spots of artificial sun through each small pinhole it carves into him, a reflection of what rests behind him instead of before him. If it weren't so troubling, the patterns he paints across his makeshift desk could be described as beautiful. But, Ryo seems more focused on prepping a needle than anything else. The manner in which he checks for functionality is almost blasé, as though he's done it hundreds of times before.

It's perhaps best to leave why he's so comfortable with phlebotomy out.

But, still, when turns to the person beside him, he casts the small wash of light across their body through the minute gaps scattered across the high of his cheekbones like a smattering of flickering freckles. They creep up toward his eyes, mark near the dark of his lashes. There's not much to see of his face behind the makeshift mask he wears, but his gaze is clear and steady as he assesses the readiness of the arm or available appendage the other has given to him. ]

Keep still, [ he says, the words muffled. The crown of his head speckled too as he inclines it, feels out the line of the vein he's selected to draw from with his fingertips. There's no count, no forewarning — Ryo's learned that giving any indication of when he's about to puncture skin makes most lock up. Of the individuals who have come, they'd all experienced pain enough to make the collection difficult without an additional intrusion.

He doesn't seem particularly apologetic about it either way once he's got the needle in. He just watches it fill. Perhaps the other would like to take the opportunity to scold him for his terrible bedside manner? Barring that, there's certainly plenty to speak on with regards to the potential smell, scent, and viscosity of the blood that's now being sacrificed in the name of medical science. ]

III.

[ Wildcard me or hit me up at rasasvada or on Discord at morning star#3715 and I'll write you something special. ]

iii

[oculusriffs]

[the only reason this isn't a ii is because Dave hasn't offered an arm for blood drawing yet — nope, he's got them crossed over his front like a stubborn kid, attempting to hide the effects the virus is having on him at the moment. which is a dumb way for him to be acting, he's the one who got the wild hair about learning more science and what exactly was going on, and dragged himself over here to begin with.]

[no, but seriously:]

Just a sec. I wanna ask you something.

[luciformis]

[ that's fine. Ryo isn't as patient a person as he pretends to be, but his current standing with the epidemic hasn't yet pushed him past the thin sliver of social graces he usually carries. in fact, he's by and large self-contained at the moment. he's driven, but the push to find a solution to their growing problem hasn't quite reached critical mass. for all that it appears, it could break any day now and the glacial healing patterns of most individuals could begin. for both himself and Akira, they had less to worry about than the rest. ]

What is it? [ he asks, though the question is directed more at the samples he has beside him. he's sorting them by what he presumes to be different variations entirely, though he's pointedly kept his own and Akira's out of the mix. he'll examine those ones privately, since there's something more than a little peculiar about Akira's and now his. it's worth noting that he's marked each one with a string of unique numbers, though the initial one is always either one, two, or three. and it's further worth noting, perhaps, that he only trusts his right hand to carry out the task. his left stays stationed on his lap, seemingly fine beneath one of the gloves he wears. ]

[oculusriffs]

[Dave meanwhile, can only picture a lineup of people he cares about either disappearing or completely solidifying or straight up literally falling apart, a hypothetical end result, since it hasn't gotten to that point quite yet, but one he still can't stop worrying over. and alongside them, all he sees is a ticking clock.]

Assuming all this science you're doin' right now leads to a solution — or at least, the start of one. How long do you think it's gonna take to turn that into action? Like, I'm looking for a number here.

[that probably sounds kind of selfish, like he's asking how much longer he has to suffer like this. to anyone who knows what he's capable of, though, it's obvious where he's going with that question.]

[and — well, why not, they could be running out of options sooner rather than later, may as well trust Ryo and elaborate. he hates screwing around with the timeline — he'll complain about it for way too long if you let him, with incredibly stupid karate metaphors and Back to the Future references. but he'll absolutely use it if that's ultimately part of the solution.]

[it won't work, of course. he hasn't tried time travel yet, discovered that it's not actually an option, that it'll backfire worse than it usually does. but right now? the benefits of changing this current course of events are easily outweighing any potential consequences for him.]

I'm just saying. If you figure something out, I can turn however many months it takes to make it into zero. Could have it now.

[luciformis]

[ Ryo has both hubris and pride, but there is something in that offer that he won't go out of his way to deny. normally, Ryo has no inclination to reveal more details than he has to, but there's a such thing as equivalent exchange when the information given to you is helpful to all of you (even if that "all" just reaps the benefits from the primary cause). even still, there has to be something cleared up.

honesty is essential here. if what Dave says is true (and he doesn't doubt it, considering the oddities he's seen and experienced before and after coming here), then this is what he'll have to submit to. not that he wouldn't, if asked, regardless. there's no harm or foul in trying, right? ]

I don't have one.

[ he doesn't look at Dave, not yet, but he takes one vial up with his steadier hand. when he does turn to give him the full of his attention, he taps the thin glass with the tip of one finger. it's demonstrative in a way that someone familiar with teaching others only can be. ] Consider it this way: if one of us recognizes an overlap with the underlying genetic structure of the virus, then we can approach it in a familiar way. In the past, vaccines were created by damaging its ability to replicate or emit toxins in its host. Once isolated, by injecting an individual with the defective strain or introducing a scrubbed variant, we can produce a possible resistance.

[ he pauses, tilting the vial slightly. the thicker viscosity of this sample leaves legs across the vessel that keeps it. ]

If the virus is resilient or adaptive to tampering, then each possible vaccination is only a stopgap. I can't say if or when it will overtake our efforts to suppress it.

[ it's a morbid picture to paint. however, there's something in the set of Ryo's expression that doesn't seem to consider failure an option. the cadence of his words fall like one reading for a text. whether it be arrogance or determination, it is difficult to say. either way, he places the sample back among its coupled peers and turns his attention back to him. the blue of his eyes speckle briefly with the light behind him, before flickering again out of place.

he places his hands in his lap, inclines his head slightly. ] If you're able to do it, then I'll tell you as soon as I can.

[ it's appreciative, though it is difficult to tell with him. it seems polite, with a harder edge beneath it. it's something he doesn't verbalize, but that goal that Dave has isn't entirely without pair. it may be more localized, perhaps, and more assured it might not come to that — but, it isn't to say it won't. ]

[oculusriffs]

... Okay.

[the science lesson is appreciated, bleak an outcome as it is. he thinks he understands, if only because he knows, from his own experiences, the aggressively adaptive nature of reality itself. how the slightest mutations — in his case, the exact year a kid aboard a pony on top of a meteor was shot to Earth — can completely change the course of everything. like a really fucking weird butterfly effect.]

[but Dave got his confirmation. that's what he was really hoping to hear from Ryo, and it's what gets him to finally unfold his arms and straighten. what's happening to him seems tame in comparison to Ryo, in a lot of ways, but he seems offended enough as it is by it: it's two vertical spots on his chest, completely opened and revealing the uncomfortable chair behind him that he's sitting on. like someone just ran him through with two swords, or something.]

[you think you're real funny, don't you, space station.]

Maybe save that science lesson you just gave me for a later podcast, though. Like after everyone's recovered. Seems like it might be kind of a buzzkill right now.

[luciformis]

[ for all that Ryo isn't, without knowledge of particular subjects is not one of them. Ryo knows the cruelty of the world firsthand, in ways both conscious and unconscious — the body of who he is and what he will become more than the sum of what he pieced together within a body of boy who washed ashore ten years ago with no recollection of a life before the hand that was extended to him.

the weak die, the strong survive. Ryo was ruthless and cold where it was suited and there is a certain distance that he wedges between himself and the situation because vulnerability begets nothing advantageous at all. the moment he allowed himself to contemplate possibility, probability was the moment he lost his grip on the disease that had come to overshadow them all.

but, with that answer given, Dave allows Ryo to see what he has hidden and trusts him enough to ask for his advice. perhaps it was necessity or perhaps it was desperation, but Ryo knows these motives too. he does not blink at what Dave displays to him, because he has seen things more peculiar and damaging off-board the station and back home, stood knee deep in the golden ichor of beasts that roamed through every street without humanity's ever knowing where or how. ]

It's fact, [ Ryo says, setting to prepping again. he gestures at Dave to choose an arm, his hand reaching back for cloth to tie off the circulation with. ] I don't mind explaining if people ask for it.

[ he pauses, considers. ] My first one wouldn't feature this, [ he doesn't have to specify what he means, because he clarifies in the next moment: ] I covered diseases and their spread a year or two ago.

[ and, well, demonic possession also that runs super parallel to a contagion. but, it's actually a scathing criticism of war in a glorious, gory metaphor. he wouldn't know that last part though. at least, not until the sequel. ]

[oculusriffs]

[necessity, desperation, and a few ounces of trust. that's the sort of cocktail that you need to make it out the other side of a Scratch alive. or dead. or, well, existing at all.]

[Dave's not all that great on the trust front. but if someone manages to capture it? it always shows — he's a lot more sensitive than he lets on, and it bleeds through in pretty much everything he does, as much as he might try to hide behind the layers of calm and collected. he can't help it. he's not an emotionless robot like his bro was, as much as the latter may have tried to make him one.]

[after a split second hesitation, he offers his arm and averts his gaze. he'd never, ever admit it, but he hates the sight of blood. he tries to focus on something else instead.]

What would your first episode be about? [the phrasing isn't lost on him. he reads it as a thing that may not happen — it can't happen if everyone's dead.]

[luciformis]

[ Ryo knows some things about trust. he knows some things about desperation. and he knows some things about necessity, his hand finding his gun more than once in the past few months. he'd come seeking Akira out at the possible end of the world as they'd perceived it, knowing that there was no other who could carry the burden with him to save humanity's skin.

and yet, Ryo often fails to trust. Akira, to him, is the only one that he can. it's the way he's always been, he thinks. humans are reckless, cruel. humans hate what is unknown to them, attack what is unknown to them. they take all that they can until there is nothing left to take again. and still —

Ryo tilts his head in minute degrees. It almost seems like the answer won't come, but it does. With Ryo, he always manages something. ]

I thought about the extended impact of zero-g, [ he starts, his hands steady as he works the band around Dave's arm. there's a surprising strength to them as Ryo ties the circulation off, calculated and precise to the ratio of his body. the avoidance of observation reminds him a little of who Akira once was, an individual that shied from blood, violence.

he leans back and waits. ] But, with the complaints of sleeplessness, covering circadian rhythms would be better.

[ it's practical. it also makes people more useful in general when they're not sleep deprived and saves clutter on the network, but he doesn't say that. ]

idk what # this is

[bestials]

[ Hank sighs in frustration from where he's sat at a lab table, right hand holding tweezers which he's using to try to pry up a section of copper which has blossomed over the skin of his left forearm. He'd shaved a patch of his arm because the fur was getting in the way, and now he just has a mottled mix of copper and blue skin. It's spreading like patches of eczema, making him itch in a strange way his fur never did.

Finally, he gives up and slams the tweezers down on the worktable surface with perhaps more force than is strictly necessary, causing the beakers and equipment to rattle. ] Argh! This is no good.

[ He casts his eyes about the lab, spotting something that might help. To Ryo, he calls, ] Pass me that scalpel? If I can't pry off a sample of this copper plating, I'll cut it out.

[ Self experimentation has been a large part of Hank's scientific methodology for a long time now, for better or for worse. Why stop now? ]

mystery numbers are also wonderful

[luciformis]

[ Were Ryo a lesser mortal (or arguably mortal at all), he might have jumped. However, Ryo was neither of these things. From any beginning that he could recall, he'd always been aware of what might have hurt him and had been, in turn, inexorably drawn to it to start. The resounding clatter that comes from across the lab only gives him a moment's pause to steady his own samples with the light press of his hand. The last thing he needed was to disrupt what he was given more than he already had. Contamination would give more difficult reads, not that these examinations were revealing anything he'd have liked thus far anyway. ]

Yeah, [ he says after a moment. He sits back, lifts his right had to skim across the surface of his desk. There's about three he's taken and sanitized for his own usage, but with the submissions slowing, he wouldn't miss one for now. He curls his fingers about the end, avoiding the temperamental gap his last two fingers have left.

He's a soft spot of light as he eventually rises, comes up to Hank's side. He doesn't say much, if anything at all, the refracting transparency that chases its way across the pale of his skin letting the light behind him blur across his desk like the bright sun through tree limbs. It isn't hard to know where he looks. The copper that grows within Hank's veins glimmers until he eventually says: ]

I can do it, [ He doesn't look disturbed at all by scene laid out before him. He's placid in a way that many wouldn't be, his blue eyes steady above the white of his makeshift mask. There's a clinical curiosity, perhaps, but he turns the scalpel to present him the blunt end regardless. Either way, he doesn't mind assisting. He's extracted a sample like this already today.

And luckily, perhaps for them both, copper was a malleable and soft substance. It took a bit of work, but it wouldn't be impossible to pry free by someone with decent dexterity. ]

[bestials]

[ The problem is that part of Hank's mutation is a heightened, near animalistic instinct. He especially loses his tight grip on control over his more beast-like nature when he's agitated or upset. And this entire ordeal has been very upsetting. So his teeth are gritted, jaw clenched, hands shaking with the restraint of not lashing out and destroying every fragile thing nearby.

Luckily, Ryo seems to have enough patience for them both. The symptoms he displays-- the dappled light phasing through him like the sun through trees on a peaceful day back on the grounds of Charles' mansion-- are unusual, and would be enough to unsettle anyone, yet Ryo remains cool-headed. At least he appears so, outwardly. Hank isn't a telepath, so he could have no idea how Ryo was faring inside his own head.

In any case, Ryo's hands are probably the steadier of the two right now. Hank takes a deep breath, then waves away the offered scalpel. ] No. Perhaps you should. I'm too... [ He doesn't have the right word for how he's feeling right now. The grief for losing Charles and Raven. The frustration at his body for betraying him. The anger and hopelessness of being able to do nothing to stop it. He trails off, trusting Ryo to understand, if not through his words then through the tense shaking of his limbs and unsteadiness of his fingers.

He rolls back the sleeve of his jumpsuit some more before presenting his arm to Ryo to do his work. ]

[luciformis]

[ Ryo considers what Hank tells him and nods once, turning back to grab a nearby chair. He hooks a leg with his foot and gives it a push over to Hank. It rolls the perfectly calculated distance and Ryo takes his seat beside him, shifting only slightly to get a better look.

Hank may not be a telepath, but he's right when he thinks Ryo is cool-headed. There's very little that seems to bother him, even things that should, but Hank has no context for that yet. He's not worried, at least, for most everyone. His concern is narrow and singular. It rests in the hands of only one individual, who he'd promised to protect.

And he will, if he has any say in it. But, Ryo knows the physiological symptoms of emotional distress. He might not understand its origin or even care for what it is, but he does recognize it. He glances up, expression neutral and focused as it always is. ]

Don't budge, [ he says, because he knows that in this state of agitation, Hank's more likely to. He doesn't say anything else, but turns his attention to the task at hand and adjusts his gloves, leans in. He places the flat of his wrist across Hank's arm, doesn't look up. Every-so-often, there's the impression of his left hand as it flickers into existence. Its grip, when it's present, is surprisingly strong for someone who is just a slip of a thing for his height. ] If you do, I can't guarantee I won't hit anything else.

[ His voice is smooth, like the worn edges of seashells. He doesn't flinch as he adjusts his grip on the scalpel, dips into the present wound that Hank's carved out. He gouges into the copper matrix where Hank left off and doesn't dial back the pressure. It's a solid stroke, as he knows that too many passes will dull the edge and he'll have to expend another one to get the sample they want.

He's serious about not moving, seems like. ]

ii.

[intrusivethot]

[ Likewise, Ren doesn't seem particularly bothered by his awful bedside manner. This ain't his family practitioner out in the country, who delivered Ren and knows his health history inside and out, and nor would Ren make the mistake of thinking Ryo was that inclined toward others' opinions of him anyway should he think Ryo's being colder than his various instruments in this freezing station.

His opinion doesn't matter. Ren has to resign himself to the fact that this isn't his area of expertise, that there isn't anything anywhere he can make an impact, and that being a ghost could not be more appropriate a state.

The lights underneath Ryo's skin are fascinating by themselves, and returning the kindness Ren stares openly at them, almost belligerently while Ryo takes his sample. ]

Is getting a variety at all useful or do you look for pure volume of blood?

I donate when blood drives come 'round school, so take another pint if it helps.

[ As long as a cure's found Ren doesn't care what he gives up. ]

[luciformis]

Volume and variety are both useful, but serve different purposes, [ he starts. If he notices Ren staring, he doesn't seem to react to it. He's accustomed to it. Most of his life, he'd drawn the attention of others. But, attention means little to him. It served to make him wealthy and served to grant him academic acknowledgement, but it also served many other (and less beneficial) purposes. He'd been an outsider, an interloper. In a country that wasn't the most welcoming to perceived differences that Ryo could not explain or amend, it had once made him a target. America had been more forgiving in some ways, but even there his age had othered him.

It would have anywhere.

So, Ren could stare. Ren could stare all he wanted. The dim lab lights needle through the absences of flesh, dot beneath his eyes. Sometimes, and only sometimes, the corporeal glitch heals itself fast enough to instead reveal the smallest slivers of bone. ] Variety will confirm or deny any genetic consistencies. The more samples we gain, the higher the likelihood that we'll be able to determine whether or not there's more than one strain.

[ His words fall like one reading from a medical text. And perhaps he had once on the subject. ]

Volume gives us more viable samples to test. [ Instead of having to ask again for blood, the blood could be kept. It reduced having to ask people to come up as the disease likely progressed. He glances up once, briefly, before letting the needle do its own work. He straightens back up, reaches beside him for gauze. It shouldn't be more than a minute. ]

I; she doesn't care who takes the samples!!

[mapsio]

[If there was no way she could be useful otherwise, Haru thinks that the least she can do is to help a couple of fellow station science guys out. Her joints are stuff, parts of her skin are starting to get hard— and frankly? She is more panicked about this than she cares to lead on.

She steps into the medical bay, a lot slower than she would like.]

Um...

[Her head is a little foggy, losing her train of thought easily. Obviously (seeing as she showed up), she is here to help with their cause and give samples. Also to discuss with anyone willing why her skin and her joints are feeling so different.]

[bestials]

[ The man who happens to be standing by (rather stiff as well, with a shiny copper tinge to his forearms where he's rolled back the sleeves of his large jumpsuit) is a large, blue furred individual. He'd thought about using his extra dose of serum to make his appearance something more palatable, but honestly, he isn't sure how it would interact with the mysterious symptoms he's experiencing.

In any case, he turns to look at the girl entering, lowering horn rimmed glasses gently. ]

Hello? Can I help you?

[mapsio]

I am willing to help those who were asking to find a solution.

[Even if it meant being poked and prodded at, she wanted to offer what she could to help them get closer to a solution. If there is one. She didn't really think much of what to say when she arrived.

The awkward silences are a little much right now.]

I was hoping to relay some of my other symptoms to someone as well.

[bestials]

[ As frustrated as he is by the spreading copper in his bloodstream and the lack of answers their research so far has provided, Hank does his best to put forth a nice, polite bedside manner, as it were. So he offers the young girl a smile and waves her in towards the chair he's set up to take samples. ]

Please, come in.

[ While she gets herself settled, he wheels over a small cart which carries an array of instruments and needles, plus gauze and adhesive tape for afterwards. ] I'll try to make this as non-invasive as I can.

[mapsio]

[She can imagine that this man is just as frustrated as she is, he looks it to be honest. She approaches and settles herself in the chair.

This should be more terrifying, shouldn't it? This should scare her to death. Yet she sits perfectly still as the instruments are wheeled over.]

Besides not feeling well, parts of my skin have started taking on, well... feel for yourself? [She rolls up one of her sleeves, placing a few of her fingers over a hardening portion of her skin.]

Do what you need to do, I will do my best not to move.

[bestials]

[ Hank grabs an extra-large pair of latex gloves, careful not to rip them with his claws as he gets them on. Only once he's properly gloved does he take hold of her offered arm, pressing gently and feeling the solid resistance under the skin. He suspects he knows what's under there, judging by his own coppery arm. But it's best to find out for sure.

He keeps hold of her arm with one hand, while the other one moves to grab an alcohol swab. He preps an area about one inch square, then grabs a scalpel. ]

I'm going to make a small incision. I'm sorry if it hurts, it will be over quickly. You might want to look away.

[mapsio]

Do what you have to.

[The look on her face is grim, not really wanting to be cut open. But knowing that something could be seriously more wrong with her, and others on this station feeling the same thing.

She takes a deep breath and looks away.] I'm ready.

[bestials]

[ As soon as she says she's ready, he slices into her skin with the scalpel. He doesn't have to cut too deep to find the source of the hardness, and it's exactly what he'd suspected. Underneath the skin, a layer of copper, tinted red by blood, but shining and metallic just the same. ]

You have metal under your skin, [ he tells her as he presses gauze to the area to staunch the bleeding. ] I've seen this before, and I'm sorry, but I don't have a way to stop its spread. I could try to take it out but it would be incredibly painful and I can't guarantee it won't grow back.

[ He doesn't want to cut into her any more than he has to. ]

[mapsio]

[She tries her best not to flinch, but there really is nothing she can do about the jolt that goes through her body, the small noise of discomfort and her free hand white knuckled in the fabric of her jumpsuit.

This is terrible. But necessary. She's fine with it for that reason.]

Metal?

[Like she needed to hear it again. Like she didn't quite trust that. She's already breaking out into a cold sweat from just the scalpel cutting into her. She can't imagine doing much more than this.] And so I haven't a choice besides just letting it fester....

[luciformis]

[ It's difficult to say what will be useful at this stage.

When he'd not been with the samples, he'd been with Akira. When he'd not been with Akira, he'd been with the samples. He spends hours at a time inspecting the progression of the disease in isolated environments, blood and alloy beneath a sharp and scientific lens. These days, Ryo seems to be much less a victim of its spread than some. His hands are still mobile enough to manipulate the microscope, the last two fingers of his left hand occasionally absent. It does not flicker or filter through him more than that, beyond the way the lights behind him seem to pinhole through the inconstancy of his transparency elsewhere. He has no signs or symptom of discomfort or disquiet as he studies what he's given, no matter how much these patches shiver and shift.

He's in the middle of examining another slide when Haru walks in. He doesn't need to look up to know who it is, her voice familiar from their previous encounters across the station. ]

You can come in, [ Ryo starts, one hand turning the dial of the microscope he's stationed at. He doesn't look up or lift a hand, but his voice acknowledges her idling at the doorway to the lab. If she doesn't specify why she's here or hesitates to step inside the room, he'll pause just long enough to add: What is it? ]

[mapsio]

[When she comes this time, she doesn't really know why. Maybe she's looking for answers, maybe she wants to know how long she has before she turns completely metal. She knows that it must be tough to be the person going through all of these samples as well, so maybe in her mind checking on others seemed to be her best bet.

She didn't intend to be lost on words as soon as she showed up, and she can imagine the silence between them was rather awkward considering the state of their last few encounters. Each during these times of struggle.]

I just wanted to see how you were doing, I suppose.

[Concerned? Sort of. Ah, she knows what she can do. Asuka-san was good at talking science, right?]

Have you discovered anything with the samples collected?

[luciformis]

[ Ryo doesn't consider social niceties in the same way most do. He comprehends when others feel awkward, but does not participate in feeling it too. More frequent than not was the small bloom of irritation that unfurled behind his ribs, just clear of carving into the still of his demeanor. Most human inhibitions were detrimental to getting anything done. It was part and parcel of why he was so rejected. As a child, he obeyed the laws of beasts more than the laws of purported "civility." Ryo knew well enough that humans were just the same beneath, but lacked the ability to contact that honesty.

And in a way, wasn't that almost worse? ]

I'm fine, [ he says after a moment. He isn't fine, by the standards of most. If the disease was allowed to progress, perhaps he'd last longer than most. Perhaps he'd outlast them all, but it didn't seem likely to him. He's just as human as Okumura-san, after all. All that separates the two is their individual resiliency. More than anything, though he would never allow himself to admit it, his newer concern for his own survival was bled into him through Akira's urgency. Ryo never allowed himself to think that he could die, as much he never allowed the same for Akira. They'd live because they were seekers of the truth, a team. Once linked, it was impossible to tear them apart.

At least, for so he thinks. Still, that's neither here nor there. It's gradual, but he lifts his attention from the object of his studies, hands folding in his lap. He picks his head up, casts her a distracted glance. The blue of one eye seems more gold as it fades from visibility. He blinks, and the blue returns. ]

How much do you already know? [ It's pertinent enough to ask. He doesn't want to rehash what she already knows, as much as he doesn't want to spend the time rehashing it. ]

[mapsio]

[Ryo doesn't sound fine to her, but she catches the drift that he may not be a person to talk much about how he is feeling. What he is feeling, or how things are taking a toll on him. That much became very clear to her the last time they ran into each other during one of these times. Though Haru had bitten back at him that time.

She lets it go.

She has to for the sake of her search for knowledge on why things are happening. ]

Not as much as I would like to know. When I discussed this with Hank-san. He told me that copper was forming under my skin, and the progression was both unknown and unable to be stopped.

[When she steps into view more completely. It's clear that copper is starting to peek through her skin. It could look elegant like scales, or it could look like she may not have much longer before she can't get herself around freely.]

I know it is obvious from looking at me, but, it has progressed more since I gave my initial samples, and the pain has increased quite a bit. [Ryo is the only person she has admitted her pain to, actually. She can't stand to worry her friends.]

I

[notyourrookie]

[Medical settings are far from Wash's favourite places. He's spent too much time in them, and he hasn't always been allowed to leave. Still, if there's a chance they can fix this... whatever it is, the one that makes him feel like he's got circuit boards and wires beneath his skin, copper spreading through his blood, well, he'll take the discomfort.]

You said you wanted samples.