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
"Think I lost a kidney. Don't know, I wasn't there." He was knocked unconscious for who knew how long--no brain damage though, he was certain of that!--and then whoever scraped him off the floor kept him in a coma, either medically induced or one he'd already started all by himself.
"New implants in there anyway. But they didn't finish. I'm not sewn up, and this says something's not right," he gestured to the flickering light embedded in the skin next to it. "So I don't care if there's medics, unless they know Grineer parts, I'm doing this myself." With some local analgesics so he could dig into the problem. He had some here, where were they--Ah, the one with the funny-shaped blood smear, right.
Now he just needed to load the injector, which wasn't exactly easy at the moment, even with metal hands. They were still hooked up to his nervous system, which was feeling really overworked today.
no subject
It is a little condescending. He's the devil, what do you expect?
"You've got a convenient little check-engine light? Neat. Bet humans wish they could have one." He's just going to let the guy work on himself though. If he doesn't want someone with medical experience helping, there was no use in offering his own help. Instead, he was going to have a good time watching, whether the strange guy liked it or not.
"Man, those fingers don't look like they're easy to work with. The androids definitely got a better deal. Least you got a nice butt though."
no subject
"If you're not human, why are you so ugly?" Usually he would come up with something more inventive, but he was not at the top of his game at the moment.
"They're easier than flabby little meat hands," he mutters, managing to get the injector filled by the power of spite alone. "Versatile. Replaceable. Not covered in... hand squiggles." He couldn't remember what they were called. Little lines all over human hands so they could grip things better. Stupid way to do things. What if you stuck your hands in something caustic? The squiggles would just fall off!
But as always, his attention span was short. "I designed it personally." He'd calculated the ideal curvatures to match his aesthetic. His backside wasn't just nice, it was a custom-built work of art.
Unlike whatever was going on in his insides at the moment. Now that things were beginning to numb, he could prop the incision open to get a look at how badly things had been botched. Which would be much easier if it weren't his own torso he was working on. "Hold that." He gestures to a mirror on the tray next to him.
no subject
Lucifer has to laugh at that. Something very alien was certainly at the core of this metal man, finding humanity ugly and complaining about hand squiggles. "My hands are also versatile and replaceable", he replied. "As are my hand-squiggles!" He was never calling them anything but that ever again. "You've never seen someone who could do as many things with their meaty hands as I can."
He's not going to demonstrate. Not right now, anyway, far too lazy for that. He will give the booty another once-over though. The guy's personality was shitty but like, whatever? If he avoided people because they had shitty personalities, he wouldn't have a single friend or fuck-buddy! "A good design if I do say so myself. Did you do the whole body then?" Hey, he could appreciate a good thing.
And interested as he was in the answer to his question, he wasn't going to bother the guy by being more troublesome than he needed to be, simply picking up the mirror and holding it out, angled towards the guy.
no subject
"All of it. Customized for ideal form and function. Except this part, obviously." Due to his ideas on how best to arrange viscera in a redesigned torso, the kidney wasn't where nature had intended it to be. That was good, otherwise he'd have had to pull out so much before he could get to it. Instead...
"They didn't finish plugging it in. Idiots." There was a trailing blue cable, coiled haphazardly next to a shiny new gray and red synthetic organ. He sighed. "They couldn't even leave me a difficult problem to solve."
no subject
And now, on the one hand, he was Lucifer. What did he have to prove? Who was this guy? He'd be nothing but dust someday and Lucifer would be the same as he ever was, and as he'd ever be. But on the other hand, he WAS Pride Incarnate. "Alright then", he replied, more than happy to demonstrate something. Something, something... something interesting.
"Watch this. Now, pay close attention, I'm only going to do this once." At that, Lucifer held the mirror with two hands, one on top and one on the bottom, spinning it just once before he made it disappear! It hadn't really disappeared of course, it was sleight of hand! But that wasn't really the trick he was meaning to show with his hands, and four black wings burst from his back as he pointed a finger towards the open wound, a small puff of wind shooting from it before Lucifer does another flourish to reappear the mirror between his hands, pointing it back where it was needed.
"Ta-da!" He wasn't really well-versed in healing magic or anything, but it should make the area fairly numb, at the least. "Told you my hands were great."
no subject
Wait. He couldn't feel his intestines anymore! Good! Those finicky gut-worms never liked being handled.
He leaned as far as he could from where he was seated, trying to get a look at the wings. "You're the one from the network," he finally realized. "And possibly magical."
Oh, and the mirror was back! Excellent. He got back to work, talking more freely now as he stuck a pair of forceps into his own torso. "Oh, the Tenno wouldn't be happy about that. Breaking the laws of reality's always been their game, no one else's. They'd be jealous. Frightened, even!" This obviously pleased him to no end.
no subject
"You've got it. 'Mourningstar'. Lucifer Morningstar, to be precise, a pleasure to meet you." That's it, that's all he needed. Just a little ego fluffing and now he's much more personable. And he definitely enjoys the idea of being frightening!
"What name do you go by?" Which honestly he asked because despite his username clearly LOOKING like a name, he didn't want to look like a fool and say 'Tyl' wrong. Or have it be his last name... or his FIRST name, and then maybe he'd be being rude by using it. Yadda yadda, he doesn't really get nonhuman stuff quite yet. They're all so wildly different.
no subject
"Tyl. Tyl Regor." It was a solidly Grineer name, simple and easy to pronounce. Which meant outsiders were totally clueless about how it worked. Sure, a Grineer with an especially thick accent would sometimes call him 'Tuhl', but at least they never called him 'Tile'. It was 'Till'. Some of them had to be doing that on purpose.
But he was feeling a little more charitable towards this one and their weird, overly-long name. "It's a relief to find something like you. I was told this place was full of extra-dimensional oddities, but it's been so disappointing. Everything else here has been so distressingly human-shaped. Haven't even seen any lizards!"
He grasped the end of the loose cable with the forceps, and started guiding it deeper into his abdomen. There was a bundle of wires deep in there that it needed to join up with, follow the path up through his guts to a power supply. He'd be working mostly blind there, but he knew how all the parts fit together. It'd be fine.
"Of course, maybe some of them are new strains, but what am I supposed to do with that? Their organs will look almost exactly the same as all the rest, and I can't read their genomes here, not unless there's a sequencer hiding somewhere here. I don't suppose you have one of those, do you?" He glanced up at this Mourningstar whatsit.