Tyl Regor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
biochemastery) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
reverielogs2018-09-08 11:00 pm
biochemastery) wrote in reverielogs2018-09-08 11:00 pm
Entry tags:
[open] Hello, world!
» WHO? Tyl Regor and YOU! Yes, you specifically!
» WHEN? Day of his arrival
» WHERE? Around the station.
» WHAT? Awakening, first-aid, unwise decisions, and monologuing!
» WARNINGS? Prompt #2 contains blood, injury, medical situation.
01. Arrival
Again. Again! Filthy lizards, how dare they! Breaking, contaminating everything! His Tubemen, his tomb, his favorite set of hands! Organs, too, several of them. Definitely several. There had been pain. So much pain, more parts to repair and replace. Goodbye, kidney, ungrateful little creature.
And he still hurt. But he was awake now, wasn't he? Yes. Yes, he could smell things, dreams didn't do that. But what he smelled was wrong. Not his lab. Not lesser labs, not even a butcher's block on some stinking galleon. Couldn't describe it. Maybe Corpus? Why? How? He couldn't see. Was he blind? Who did this?
Oh. His faceplate was askew. He reached up with an elbow to fix it, but found instead that he had hands. His hands. Good!
But not. This wasn't a Corpus ship either. The wrong metal, the wrong lights. The right hum, but it was through the deck, not whining from the little engines of Ospreys, the poxy, proxy metal flies--
"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."
"Who is there?" No one answered. That wasn't going to stop him. "Someone rude. Awful, nasty behavior. Take me from my work, my progress," He pushed himself up--Ngh, his head! Nauseous, but clear-eyed, could remember things, probably no brain damage. "Tenno leeches wriggling through my home and you bring me here!" His feet tik-tik-tiked across the floor as he paced. "Unacceptable. Unbelievable. So who? Not Tenno, not their Lotus, pseudo-Tenno doesn't care. Not Corpus. Perrin peaceniks? Hexus bores? Maybe. Why? Why the capture, why the limbs, who would be idiot enough to--"
"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."
"Don't interrupt!" That's it. He was breaking down the walls and leaving. Goodbye.
Oh. The door wasn't locked. Hm.
Tik-tik-tik down the empty corridor, looking for something to accost for this transgression.
02. Medical [warning: blood, injury, and cyborg medical stuff!]
Stupid, stupid kidney. It couldn't make a graceful exit. Well fine, he'd never liked it anyway. Or maybe it wasn't the kidney. But something in there was being annoyingly fussy. Might be bleeding somewhere, or an implant still needed repairs. Well, he'd wanted to find out if this station had a medical bay regardless.
And it did! He was honestly surprised. Well then! Time to take stock.
Ow. No. Couldn't wait. Time to take himself apart instead. Whatever's in easy reach will have to do for now, nosing through the cabinets later. Examine, diagnose, fix what's gone wrong.
And so Regor can be found in the medbay, sitting on one of the beds with a tray of tools and medical supplies next to him, muttering under his breath.
A portion of his suit has been pulled open, revealing an unpleasant sight: ashy-pale skin, shot through with dark metallic tubing and ports leading to more devices hidden beneath the flesh. He's covered in bruises, the worst of which is an angrily inflamed patch around one of the ports. At its center is an open wound, slowly bleeding down to the boundary line between flesh and metal. An indicator light next to it is flickering.
"What idiot put me back together?" he wonders aloud, examining the damage. "Nothing's finished! Mental note: Remember this, when I get back. Find them, give them another scalpel and make them--Rhh! Katrarr!"
He gasps, pulling his hand away. His initial diagnosis: Everything hurts, and he hates life.
03. A Hallway Somewhere
Patched up, dosed with whatever antibiotics and painkillers he could find, and recovering. Brain still buzzing from the stress of messing about in his own torso. Not the first time he'd done it, though results were usually more elegant.
Now. Time to take something else apart. Namely, that wall over there. He'd found a likely-looking section where there was enough space for his fingers to grip the edge of the plating and pull. This wasn't the right pair for heavy work, but those hands were probably still back in his lab, somewhere.
Oh well! "Getting into the guts of something's always the best way to learn how to deal with it," he said, apparently addressing the wall itself as he braced to pull. "And you certainly deserve it." The plating was loose, slowly beginning to warp under his grip. "Open wide..."
He almost gets a look. Almost. But a wave of dizziness and nausea leaves him reeling, losing his grip on the plating and staggering back. "What--?"
It isn't easy to balance on thin little running blade feet when you might've just been poisoned by something. He stumbles, sinking to his knees against the opposite wall. What was that? Oh, if he's just been irradiated, he's going to be so angry.
04. Observation Deck
Another trip to medical later to check himself over, and he's feeling less terrible. The sickness had been temporary. And his earlier patch-job on himself was still holding together. A little more antibiotics, just in case. Had to be careful, though always had side effects.
Side effects usually didn't include astronomical hallucinations, so he was going to have to conclude: He didn't know that planet. He didn't like that planet, on principle.
Did any of this nonsense have to do with the Sentients? None of this looked like the tomb he'd cracked open, too primitive, too plain. But it had still managed to snatch him out of the heart of the Grineer Empire and dump him here, somewhere that couldn't possibly be the Origin System. So he couldn't call for reinforcements, have this place taken apart piece by piece and melt it down to slag.
It was on the To-Do List, but he had no idea how long it would take. "No time for any of this," he groused. "Work's not gonna wait, genome's not gonna wait. Queens won't either." Which was going to be a disaster. "Find someone else, someone's going to take over, take my science!" Unthinkable! "Someone's sticky hands all over my work! Incompetent second-rate tinkerers ripping up all my progress--" His organs not-so-gently reminded him that he was gesticulating too energetically for their tastes at the moment. For a moment, he just stood there and wheezed.
"You're going to regret this," he finally manages, pointing a finger at the planet. Disappointingly, it doesn't answer.
» WHEN? Day of his arrival
» WHERE? Around the station.
» WHAT? Awakening, first-aid, unwise decisions, and monologuing!
» WARNINGS? Prompt #2 contains blood, injury, medical situation.
01. Arrival
Again. Again! Filthy lizards, how dare they! Breaking, contaminating everything! His Tubemen, his tomb, his favorite set of hands! Organs, too, several of them. Definitely several. There had been pain. So much pain, more parts to repair and replace. Goodbye, kidney, ungrateful little creature.
And he still hurt. But he was awake now, wasn't he? Yes. Yes, he could smell things, dreams didn't do that. But what he smelled was wrong. Not his lab. Not lesser labs, not even a butcher's block on some stinking galleon. Couldn't describe it. Maybe Corpus? Why? How? He couldn't see. Was he blind? Who did this?
Oh. His faceplate was askew. He reached up with an elbow to fix it, but found instead that he had hands. His hands. Good!
But not. This wasn't a Corpus ship either. The wrong metal, the wrong lights. The right hum, but it was through the deck, not whining from the little engines of Ospreys, the poxy, proxy metal flies--
"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."
"Who is there?" No one answered. That wasn't going to stop him. "Someone rude. Awful, nasty behavior. Take me from my work, my progress," He pushed himself up--Ngh, his head! Nauseous, but clear-eyed, could remember things, probably no brain damage. "Tenno leeches wriggling through my home and you bring me here!" His feet tik-tik-tiked across the floor as he paced. "Unacceptable. Unbelievable. So who? Not Tenno, not their Lotus, pseudo-Tenno doesn't care. Not Corpus. Perrin peaceniks? Hexus bores? Maybe. Why? Why the capture, why the limbs, who would be idiot enough to--"
"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."
"Don't interrupt!" That's it. He was breaking down the walls and leaving. Goodbye.
Oh. The door wasn't locked. Hm.
Tik-tik-tik down the empty corridor, looking for something to accost for this transgression.
02. Medical [warning: blood, injury, and cyborg medical stuff!]
Stupid, stupid kidney. It couldn't make a graceful exit. Well fine, he'd never liked it anyway. Or maybe it wasn't the kidney. But something in there was being annoyingly fussy. Might be bleeding somewhere, or an implant still needed repairs. Well, he'd wanted to find out if this station had a medical bay regardless.
And it did! He was honestly surprised. Well then! Time to take stock.
Ow. No. Couldn't wait. Time to take himself apart instead. Whatever's in easy reach will have to do for now, nosing through the cabinets later. Examine, diagnose, fix what's gone wrong.
And so Regor can be found in the medbay, sitting on one of the beds with a tray of tools and medical supplies next to him, muttering under his breath.
A portion of his suit has been pulled open, revealing an unpleasant sight: ashy-pale skin, shot through with dark metallic tubing and ports leading to more devices hidden beneath the flesh. He's covered in bruises, the worst of which is an angrily inflamed patch around one of the ports. At its center is an open wound, slowly bleeding down to the boundary line between flesh and metal. An indicator light next to it is flickering.
"What idiot put me back together?" he wonders aloud, examining the damage. "Nothing's finished! Mental note: Remember this, when I get back. Find them, give them another scalpel and make them--Rhh! Katrarr!"
He gasps, pulling his hand away. His initial diagnosis: Everything hurts, and he hates life.
03. A Hallway Somewhere
Patched up, dosed with whatever antibiotics and painkillers he could find, and recovering. Brain still buzzing from the stress of messing about in his own torso. Not the first time he'd done it, though results were usually more elegant.
Now. Time to take something else apart. Namely, that wall over there. He'd found a likely-looking section where there was enough space for his fingers to grip the edge of the plating and pull. This wasn't the right pair for heavy work, but those hands were probably still back in his lab, somewhere.
Oh well! "Getting into the guts of something's always the best way to learn how to deal with it," he said, apparently addressing the wall itself as he braced to pull. "And you certainly deserve it." The plating was loose, slowly beginning to warp under his grip. "Open wide..."
He almost gets a look. Almost. But a wave of dizziness and nausea leaves him reeling, losing his grip on the plating and staggering back. "What--?"
It isn't easy to balance on thin little running blade feet when you might've just been poisoned by something. He stumbles, sinking to his knees against the opposite wall. What was that? Oh, if he's just been irradiated, he's going to be so angry.
04. Observation Deck
Another trip to medical later to check himself over, and he's feeling less terrible. The sickness had been temporary. And his earlier patch-job on himself was still holding together. A little more antibiotics, just in case. Had to be careful, though always had side effects.
Side effects usually didn't include astronomical hallucinations, so he was going to have to conclude: He didn't know that planet. He didn't like that planet, on principle.
Did any of this nonsense have to do with the Sentients? None of this looked like the tomb he'd cracked open, too primitive, too plain. But it had still managed to snatch him out of the heart of the Grineer Empire and dump him here, somewhere that couldn't possibly be the Origin System. So he couldn't call for reinforcements, have this place taken apart piece by piece and melt it down to slag.
It was on the To-Do List, but he had no idea how long it would take. "No time for any of this," he groused. "Work's not gonna wait, genome's not gonna wait. Queens won't either." Which was going to be a disaster. "Find someone else, someone's going to take over, take my science!" Unthinkable! "Someone's sticky hands all over my work! Incompetent second-rate tinkerers ripping up all my progress--" His organs not-so-gently reminded him that he was gesticulating too energetically for their tastes at the moment. For a moment, he just stood there and wheezed.
"You're going to regret this," he finally manages, pointing a finger at the planet. Disappointingly, it doesn't answer.
no subject
"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said lamely. "You seemed to be talking to someone before."
no subject
"I was talking to that," he points at the planet out the window. It was just sitting there, mocking him. "To this floating, festering box we're in. My work's too important for this. Already had enough interruptions, can't just stop n--"
Yes, he could, in fact. Had to stop, cringe for a moment, bring a hand to the front of his suit, where some dried blood was still visible. Had to take smaller breaths until things healed up. Which was an unconscionable affront to his desire to rant.
"I'm very upset," he managed finally.
no subject
He reflexively put out a hand toward the other when Tyl cringed, though Cassian stopped shy of touching him. Cassian thought quickly, rifling through the mental deck…
…and chose a card. "What is your work?"
no subject
"Oh, no. It just takes time. And a bigger fleet." One which the Grineer didn't have at the moment, thanks to certain squawking heads he could mention. Thanks, Hek.
"Oh, saving the Grineer from extinction, that's all." He straightened back up slowly, carefully. "Fix Grineer genes, make them better than anyone's." The Grineer were already better. They just needed a genome to match. One that didn't break as often.
no subject
Cassian's blood chilled. Like dying to prevent a fleet (or a single station) from being able to "win" against a planet will do. He would never again mistake this individual for Kaytu. (Except perhaps pre-reprogram.)
But, whether Tyl was deluded in thinking this a temporary interlude, or Cassian was deluded in thinking (hoping) he was here now (in this new lease on life) for a good while, for the moment they were literally in the same boat. So Cassian eased back into a comfortable position beside the much taller being, determined to learn rather than to judge. "Grineer are in danger of extinction from something genetic?"
no subject
"I had the numbers, I can fix us. But not here. No data, no lab, no--" Hrgh! "--no kidney. Replacement's not taken yet." A slow, shaking breath, speaking more precisely and quietly, "Can't get loud, or it reminds me." He was inevitably going to fail at that within minutes.
no subject
He actually did. And sympathy was on the rise again. There were similar issues in the Clone Wars. For all Cassian had been on the other side of them, it wasn't the Clones themselves he'd hated—indeed, some of the Separatists had considered the cruelty/fascism of creating clones to be docile to be among the war crimes they fought against. (Their own droid army being something of a blind spot at the time…)
Experimentally, whether or not he believed it but looking for the actionable course, Cassian said, "Perhaps there's something you can learn here to ultimately bring back with you. Meanwhile, can I get you anything for the pain?" A chair, to start?
no subject
He waved a hand dismissively. "Already took painkillers when I did the surgery, more won't help." They seemed to be wearing off fast, but there was a wooziness under that which meant the drugs were still in his system, they'd just given up on doing the useful part of their job. Up the dose, and risk more side effects. And admittedly, in the initial high of the painkillers he'd self-administered, he'd gone and done some things he shouldn't have. No one would ever hear that admission spoken aloud, though.
"Greedy station must've grabbed me right out from the middle of anesthesia. Wasn't sewn up all the way." He glared at one of the walls. "How does it do it? I was in my lab. Hard to get down there, harder to get out." Unless the Tenno lizards had dragged him. Maybe that was their fault too. But then how would he end up with new Grineer-made parts?