you're part of a machine [OPEN/CLOSED]

[circumitus]

Who: Rey/Safronov and Nick Valentine (feat Alphys) + a couple open prompts.
What: Finding out that she has limited time left before her brain melts due to the infection that led to her death, Rey Safronov suffers a few blackout episodes before she is able to bring her successor back.
Where: Abandoned shop, Science lab, Robot House (1401).
When: March catch-all (feel free to specify dates in the subject line when tagging an open prompt if it's important).
Warnings: Suicidal ideations and other heavy subjects.

---

7th-19th; Abandoned Shop [OPEN]
(are you insane like me, been in pain like me?)

The headaches only got worse as the days went by. Sometimes, she would hear the most unbearable ringing in her ears, like a grenade had just gone off right next to her head. More frequent came the nosebleeds, and within a week it became blatantly obvious that Safronov was working on borrowed time. She knew this, and there was no pride in being right.

Her memories at the Russian command center were vague at first, but over time she began to recollect her life more. Perhaps it was due to the infection constantly reminding her in the forms of distractions that were getting increasingly more difficult to ignore, but she remembers it all now: She had failed in her objective to destroy the synthetic's hub at the Grigoryevich Underground Center. As a result, its systems had trapped her. Hooked her up to a seat and sent a needle through the port to her brain.

It's not much unlike the needle that her successor had evidently worked from scratch, which had been used to unintentionally bring Safronov back to the forefront. Such a crude design, but one that did the job it was supposed to. All Safronov needed to do was make sure it did its job even better. Her DYI handiwork was all over the shop she had set up base in, so that she could labor on in peace. Peace that was becoming more frequently disrupted through headaches and, now, blackouts.

Sometimes, she would lose track of what she was doing, only to wake up on the floor after trashing the extra tables, chairs, and shelves around her. Quite a racket, for those passing by on the outside and happen to notice a light beaming in the mostly empty establishment.

At some point, it gets even worse. Blackout. Then, another bloody headache. Literal this time. Blood is coming out of her nose as she grips her head, screaming and rolling on the floor. The agony is searing through her skull, electrifying her body and she feels it under her skin.

One bullet should do the trick. In her blinding pain, she crawls across the floor, to the table where she had been working at to find her gun there. Or, Rey's gun. Her successor's gun. It isn't like she hasn't done this before. This is her body, after all. A different owner has taken it now, but she recognizes the subtle flaws and blemishes that were special to her.

Regardless of whose gun this belongs to, it's Safronov's pill now. Just what the doctor ordered.

20th; Science Lab [CLOSED to Alphys sciencelizard + Nick Valentine synthedick]
(do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?)

Of course, her only 'remedy' had been less than ideal, though unsuccessful. In the end, she can't.

This isn't Safronov's life to take away anymore. Despite the pain that Rey had so badly wanted to erase, it was clear that she didn't want to be removed from the world entirely. Not when there were people who cared for her.

More than anyone ever cared about Safronov. There would never be anyone to mourn over her death, and she was better off that way for it. It gives her less reason to cling to this life, or lament the inevitable.

Still wracked with the hot pulsing pain tearing through her skull, Safronov somehow manages to make it across this strange and hot city, back to the place where she had began. While most seem to arrive here through that Door, she came through different means. Unlike the people here, however, she has an exit strategy.

Her nose is bleeding once again as Safronov opens the door to the science lab, the bag holding her supplies that she will need for this slung over her shoulder.

"Doctor?" Safronov calls into the lab before entering. She can't recall if the reptilian scientist had ever designated herself with such a title, but that is what she is called now. Whether the fact that such a creature could even be called a scientist has never struck her as strange, however. Perhaps a little bit of her successor remains, grounding them both, or it's just that Safronov has bigger concerns. "Are you here--?"

Oh. Oh no. Not again--

Safronov grunts, staggering forward while the door slams behind her. Eyes squeezed shut, she finds a wall to rest on, fighting to remain conscious this time.

---

30th; House 1401 [OPEN to close CR]
(you can't wake up, this is not a dream.)

Nearly a week and a half passes and Rey's body barely stirs in her bed, though it's hard to say if she still even is Rey. If not for the steady breathing, one could easily mistake the prone woman for a corpse.

Though she doesn't show it, every so often she is cognizant of her surroundings. Voices of those standing over her, their presence nearby. She hears, she listens, but she could never reply.

Until the ninth day since Safronov had gone rifling through their head once again. Only her eyes open, and for the first several hours all she can do is stare at the ceiling over her bed. Process her surroundings, feelings... who she is, why she's here, what happened. She remembers her name -- or a name, more like it. And a few other things. The mysteries keep her thoughts more than occupied for the long hours she can't move.

And then she blinks.

Isn't it about time you wake up, sleepyhead? says a quiet whisper in the back of her mind. Where has she heard that before? In a dream?

The questions flutter away as she closes her eyes again, until she hears the sounds of footsteps approaching the opened door to her room.

To what should come as no one's surprise, curled up at the end of the bed is a three-legged cat, whose head lifts at the prospect of company. They will find themselves being stared at by the one, single eye belonging to the creature, before yawning as he stretches his front leg over the covers.

Comments

10th

[outofthefire]

[she's on her way back from the bakery when she hears it. agonized screaming coming from a building she thought no one used. she almost passes it by; it's not her problem, after all.

or is it? the voice is familiar, though. . . different than what she remembers hearing earlier. she can't possibly make the situation worse, can she?

so she goes inside the building and sees Rey crawling towards a gun, acting as though every movement is an agony. but that's temporarily sidelined because gun. she goes over to it, putting one pennyloafered foot on the barrel of the gun]

You sure this is a good idea?

[circumitus]

[If not for the ringing in her skull, louder than ever now, Safronov would have long heard Laura's approach. Her vision flickers and when it clears again, there's a foot stepping over the gun she's reaching for.

[This pain would have sent a normal person in tears, begging for death. But Safronov is not that person. She is not weak. She has waded her way through blood and corpses in a country ravaged by slaughter.]

No. Not good. [She pauses to level her heavy breaths. Sweat beads down her face as she brings the fist that was going for the gun to her temple.] Have to... compartmentalize it.

[Sort the pain out like you would organize files. And Safronov is nothing if not a control freak who needs order.]

(cw: prostitution, drug mention)

[outofthefire]

[and she's not moving that foot. in her experience, people need guns for one reason and it's not good.

and Laura has lived through experiences that would break a lot of people. she may not have dealt with those experiences in the healthiest of ways, and she may have had to die to get her freedom, but she's still free

she wrinkles her brow, confused] Compartmentalize it? How're you gonna do that?

[and this is probably the most controlled Laura has ever been with no cocaine and no johns]

[circumitus]

[It's all just outside noise, static and breaking in. All she needs is a wall to build around that.]

By not putting bullets in our brain. That is starting point.

[Her eyes narrow as she wipes the blood trickling from her nose. Christ, not this shit again...]

one (1) alphys reporting for duty

[sciencelizard]

Alphys spends most of her time in the lab, these days; not that her home isn't nice, but with it just being down to her and Rosie, it's feeling particularly empty these days. There's less and less friends of hers by the day, and everything with Rey has been weighing heavily on her. The problem is she has no idea what to actually do for her, but Alphys is here regardless.

She's in the back in the kitchenette, head spines perking up when she hears Rey's-- well, almost Rey's-- voice start up. She starts heading out, coffee in hand, casually waiting to see what she can do for the other woman.

"Yeah, I'm here!" She calls out, setting the cup down on her desk before she looks up- and the door slams as Sav slumps against the wall. Alphys responds in turn with a shriek, bolting towards the other woman, immediately letting her hands rest on Sav's arm. "Are you okay?? W-What's happening, did-- did you get hurt?"

[circumitus]

Despite her immediate aversion towards being touched, the truth is that Safronov is too weary and it hurts too much for her to struggle. Her time is shorter than expected and she has no room to complain.

"No," Safronov says, still wincing a little after Alphys' yelling. Her head is pounding and loud noises are the last thing she wishes to hear, and yet-- "Would be easier to have conduit of sorts. Will have to make do with what I have. May I use your equipment one more time?"

Without even pausing for an answer, she starts to take a step forward, towards the supercomputer where Safronov had first woken in front of. Then staggers, bringing her shoulder back to the wall again.

Fuck. She is tired.

[sciencelizard]

She reaches forward, her other hand out trying to steady Sav as she teeters. Alphys knows she isn’t nearly strong enough to actually help the other woman stand, but even a little stability goes a long way. “What are you trying to do? I can s-set it up, I— hang on!”

She scurries away from the other woman quickly, running over to the pile of junk and bric-a-brac she’s collected over her stay in the city. There must be something here that can help. She digs around and finally retrieves a tall, broken tree branch she picked up a few days ago, running it back over.

“You can use this to balance. I c-can help hold it.”

[circumitus]

Not many people are strong enough to carry her weight, in all fairness. Safronov has the self-awareness to know this.

She accepts the branch offered to her and leans on it. Adjusting the bag at her side, the strap slides off her shoulder and catches in her hand, so Saf can hand it over to Alphys. It might be heavier than expected.

"Here. Hook these up to your system over there. Need to run some diagnostics before I start."

Something her successor should have done, before diving right in and got herself in this mess.

30th

[tongueamok]

"Oh, you're here as well."

Carlisle says that from the doorway to Rey's room, frozen on the spot as he eyes the one-eyed cat. His tone says he'd thought that said cat might not be there, as if it either didn't like Rey, or it had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination the first time he'd seen it; as it turns out, Tripod is very much real, and is very much staring at him, that singular, green eye boring a hole straight through him.

He clears his throat, averting his eyes. "I brought you some tea, Miss Rey," he says quietly.

[circumitus]

It's been a few hours. Rey has given up on trying to process everything and has just been trying to catch up on what she had apparently missed. The news of the benign Null has been more than enough to keep her distracted when Carlisle arrives.

Strange. She hadn't expected him to come, but he's alone this time and she isn't surrounded by empty liquor bottles and a foul stench in the room. At some point she had to do some cleaning to get the area in hospitable shape again, so there is that.

Sitting upright, Rey rubs her forehead before she can remember how words work again. Meanwhile, Tripod regards Carlisle warily.

"Funny. Tea sounds good right now."

Maybe because Safronov had been drinking loads of it for the past few weeks. Rey had always been more of a coffee lady before.

[tongueamok]

"R- really? I'll be honest, I had expected to be turned away, but I've got it right here if, ah."

He almost takes a step into the room, but then his eyes lock on the cat once more, and on the lone green eye that's staring a hole into the very fabric of his soul.

"Er... your cat isn't, um. I mean, he's friendly, isn't he? I remember last time I was here that I saw him in the kitchen, and there was a lot of panicking that wasn't really related to him, but I wasn't sure that I left the best impression."

[circumitus]

Her memory is a mess. She's got bits and pieces here and there, but trying to put it together is like a scattered puzzle. Rey, sitting upright in her bed, thankfully fully dressed now that she's awake, rubs her forehead.

"Why would I turn you away?"

Clearly, their last few encounters are pretty spotty at best. Not all gone from her mind, just... there's so much data. Sorting through it all is going to take time.

Rey blinks at Tripod on the bed. At least she knows who he is. She reaches out to touch the mutant cat's head to demonstrate his well-mannered demeanor. "Something tells me this guy isn't one to hold grudges," she says as Tripod closes his one eye and nuzzles against the palm of her hand.

20th; Memoryspace. [CLOSED to Nick Valentine]

[circumitus]

What once had been Alphys' science laboratory is now drawn into a perfect darkness. For a few seconds, one might easily fear they've shut down, because there is nothing, and there continues to be nothing for some time.

Then the sound of a soft, distorted whirring echoes in the surrounding darkness. A bleep. The words are difficult to make out, but not impossible.

N̳̠͓e̱w ̺̦̖̩̩̞͠U̥͉̯̞͔̤̭s̙̜̲͈͉̞͙e̼̺͍r̦̦̼̠̼ ̞̬̪̜͕͙̥D̘́e̠̞̘̹͈̟͈t̸̖̝ḛ̻̖͓̜c͏ṯ̮̺̯ḛd͏͎ͅ.̗̲̮͟.̷̬̦͔̖͍̳͍.̦̦̣̬͚͉̩
̻̭̩̘͖D̨̮e̷͕̱͉͚̙s̻̬̞̬͇̟i̖g̻̥n͍a̸̹̗̞̣͇͖t̥͉̗͔̙̠́i͎̤̥̠̞̞o͈̟̱͖̟n̛:̦̫͠ ͟N͙̭̙.̰ ̝͢V̕a̤̮̭͔͚̺͖͡l̳̪̟̬̺͙̗ẹ̡̣ͅn͠t̮̯̫ͅi̴͚̰̞͖̙͙̪n͕̤̜e̻͖
̞̪͙͓̳͕
̠̼̝̼͜R͚̩͔ͅe̵͉̦t̴̘͓͍͇͉̟ŕ̳͓i͏͙̰ḛ͔̹̯̝v̴͈i̙̹͞n̷͇̮̖̹̬͎͇g ̭͎̬̥Ṃ̺̞e͇͇̻̺̩m̯͖̞͚͍o̠̪r͘y̬̟̭ Ba͙͕̻̻ǹ̬ḱ̗͈s̼͍͓.̴.̤͜.̥̦̻


> WARNING: Error Has Occurred.
> 23% File Corruption.
> Further Use May Result In Data Infection.

> Are You Sure You Wish To Continue? Y/N

> Y




It takes some time and patience before a blurred manifestation reveals itself in Nick Valentine's surroundings. Red veins extend along a twisted path under his feet, lighting up in the darkness of the mind. Flickers of data and memories can be seen, but it's too obscure and out of reach for the images to be made clear.

There are a few blips and glitches, but for the most part, the data field is stabilized. That's when a disembodied voice, between static sounds, can be heard: "Valentine? I see the jump process hasn't scrambled your own data. Good."

The voice sounds like Rey's... No, Safronov. It's her same tone and inflection, one that Nick would no doubt be able to distinguish between her and the Rey he knows.

"Don't have much time. Infection is spreading. I have registered abstract simulations. Make your work easier. I can't walk you through because we may lose contact. Understand?"

Obviously, she waits for an answer. A response. Anything.

[synthedick]

"Yeah, I understand."

Nick's own voice sounds a little distorted, but maybe that's just the connection. He looks down to his feet, eyes trailing along the path set before him neural pathways in the human brain -- though he doesn't have a ton of experience with them, it feels a little like the loungers in the Memory Den. No Doctor Amari carefully filing through his memories this time, though. This is a hell of a lot more dangerous, and he has so much to lose if it doesn't work.

Better get to it, then. He steels himself as he gets moving, not sure of exactly what he'll find, but determined to make it work. He has to.

[circumitus]

Safronov's voice doesn't answer, but it's not like she completely abandoned him, as the darkness seems to have eyes.

As Nick starts forward, the path of translucent veins, glowing and red, slopes to a descent. It winds in twists and turns, before it comes upon a glass room. The details are vague, save for a woman in a white dress. Her golden hair flows to the back of her knees, strands covering her face (although someone like Nick might have no trouble distinguishing certain familiar features).

At least shes's clearer than the shadowman in the room with her, standing taller than her so that he has to lean forward when he appears to be looking at her hidden face.

"You're burning up. You can't be sick, can you?"

"Feel nothing," she says in a voice that Nick should know well, but she's not the Rey he knows. She sounds hollow, dead.

"Perhaps that is for the best." The man's amusement is audible in his voice, like this is what he wants.

The golden-haired woman moves forward, shoulder bumping against the man. He goes to grab her arm, only to stagger away with a yell, his hand red hot and burning. He yells in agony as blood starts trickling down his face. The woman bleeds as well, a thick black substance dripping from her hands. A flash of flame sparks but does not take.

And then it stops. The man gasps, slowly pushing himself onto his feet, panting through the noticeable pain. "What do you... feel now? Don't tell me you didn't feel something after that..."

"Do not."

"What you mean to tell me is that you're incapable of feeling anything? Anything at all?"

"Only for her."

"'Yet each man kills the thing he loves'. Do you want to die, Freyja?"



Ḿͦ͗ͨ҉͓ẹ̡̪̞̳͎̫͎̅̄̏̌ͪͧͥͤ͢͡ͅm̡̨̱̞̼͕̦̣̊ͥ͐͝o͕̼͍͙ͣ̾̈̑̾́̔̌̅͞ͅŗ̼̮̝̫͕̺̹̪ͬ̅̾ͧ̆̂̇͐̚̕ẏ̸̡̲͉̺̺͒̈̍̍̑ͅͅ ̜͖͇̣ͮ̐̍ͦ̔Ḙ̩̲̱̙̮̫͂̈̌̿ͥ̈́̑͝ŕ͎̥̾̌ͦ̿́ͅr̡̼̥͕̲̝̆ͮͮ̊ͅo͈̞̥͎̖̯̿ͤͯ͌͛̾͌̾̀̀͢r̫̖̥͈͖̠͎̩ͯ̅̽́̀.̢͓̮̳͔͙̞̮ͥ̊ͧ͛͞ ̫͇̭͉͙͕̣̠ͣ̐̏̇͒̄̈̐͜͞S̤͉̥̗̩͚̘̞̹ͬ̂̑ͯ͂̌ͣ͟͞ơ̖̲̪͇͙̿̉̅̍̏͢m̷̦̘̱̝̥̺͇̤̎̈́ͪ̈̅̑̚͝e̡̺̼͈̗̙̺͍͈͂̂ͧ͊̉͊ͯ́̕ ̛̫̩̞͋̇D̴͚̯̘̤̥̖̮͛̈̽́ͥ͞ͅa̜̦͈͈̰̗̐ͣͤ͂̚tͮ̾̌ͣ̽͑͏̬͈̱̪̼͈͘͞a̧̭͚̝̣̭ͯ̌̆̽̿͛̏͒̉͡͡ ̳̤̠͖͕̗̙̼̖ͭ̉̓ͮͧ͑̋́̚U̵̞͚̘̭̦̝͇̱͉̅͐̂̽̇͂ͮn̛̗̻̗ͭ̈́̅̎̂͘ä͖́ͤ̋́͞v̘̝̹ͥ͐̊̅͑̑̾͘a̯̫͓͖̘̜̞͑͑ͫ́̎̐ͧ̆͜i̧͇̠̗͔̪̭̞̜̥̅̆l̸̠͕̞̙̟̯̻̫̗̑ͯ̾̃ă̻̤̱̋ͧ̓̐͛b̭͍̲̭̘͙̐̽̅̈̃̇̚͞l̴̼̜͔͇͎̈́̾͆ͣ͂ͨ̚͢eͪ̿͏̘.̶̧͕͚̮͇̈̾̔ͣͬ̓
̉ͦ̀̍̐̇҉̭̙̣̘̩̰̺̙̕
̴̛̥̩̮̼͉̀D̛̞̪͚ͬ͗̓o̮͙̣̘̘͙̞͉̾̐̄̓͑͐̚ͅ ̭͉̩̦̥̥̻ͬ͆́̕͡ͅY̵̧̖̘̝̰̯͎̫̫͌͒ͪͅo̸̸̙̲̼͚̪͙͉ͤ̎̓̀͌͜u̦͎̳̹͎͌ͤͫ̋̽́ͅ ̯͙̜͍̯͖͍͋ͦͧ͊̆͐̾̈́ͦ́W̳̄̾ͭͫ̓ͨ̓ͨͅi̜̳̇̓ͮ̎ś̸̘̠̼̠͎̐ͪͬ̂͐͜ͅh̲͙̤̙̼̻ͧ̈́ ̒ͧ͝͏̭̳̯̻̠T͓̰͆́̈́͊̓̅͗̌o̷̞̳ͦ̾͠͝ ̬͐̌͆ͩͦ̐͡P̶̱̦͂ͮͩ̿̉̏͐͢r̵̷͚͕̻̎͆̿ͧ̐͌o͕̟͚͙̱̙̩̅̾̀c̪̺̪̺̼̲̦̳̻̑͗͒͒ḙ͆̓̀̎ͪ͟e̙̥ͭ̒͐͒̇͘d̤̥͓̘̯̲͕̞̽̉?̜̪̤͈͙̞͎̯̳ͩͩ͂͘


Before she could answer, the scene glitches. In its place is a burning laboratory, though much of the details are blotted out and objects and tools flickering in and out of existence. The same golden-haired woman is standing amid the fire, unconcerned with the smoke and heat around her as she stares down at her hands, blackened and shaking.

Every so often one of the tables glitch, revealing a body on the floor. A woman with similar fair hair as the other, though shorter and definitely familiar in a number of bittersweet events, some more bitter and others more sweet. But now that woman is unmoving, unbreathing. Her neck twisted in an unnatural way, with burn marks in the shape of hands around her neck...


M̤̼̹̟̉̂̂̉ͮ̿́ͅe̡̪ͬ̇̓͛m̧̲̤͚̬̳o̮͛ͮ̋̕r̼͖̋ͩ̎͢y̟̻͖ͧ̄̍͞ ̲͚̳ͬ͛̓ͧ͊ͅͅE̙̤͊ͫ̂̉ͫ̽ͅr̬̳͑ͯ̒r͚͙̟͚̩̗ͦͮͣ͑ͅơ͖̺͙̥̗̞̝͊́r̸̗̰̥͓̘̹̤̉͊ͩ.̤̹̫͎̠ͨ͒ͭ̆̐ͯ̚ ̪͙͈͇̈̀̔̋͐̔̽S͉̩̜̠͉̠̿́ͯ͗͆̋͜i̻͚̫̞̙ͧg̬̃ṇ̯̲͓̃̉͐ͧ̅͗́a̲̼͙̟̾ͩl͕̳ ͉͙̆̓͊̎͆I̮̪̼͌n̶͉̬̜̥͕̮̼͐͆̓͗͋ͤţ̹͒͌̂ͮ̍ͪͧeͧ͋ͥ̈͝r̠̬̙̰̹̹f͙͚̪̜̑̂͗̓͛ȩ̞ͬͯ̃̊͋ͭr͙̺͙̗̫̊ē̡ͦ͆̿̎́̈́ṅ̤̟̩͓̪ͬͭ̉̉̀c̪̬̯̺̥e̯͖̙ͅ.͕̙́


The Russian inflection of Safronov's voice speaks: "Continue. This is only distraction."

Though the memory is one Rey could definitely use some fixing up... there are more recent wounds that need healing.

[synthedick]

As the scene plays out before him, Nick walks through the glass room, taking in the ghosts of people he has never met, but knows all the same; he's an apparition himself, unable to interact with what's happening no matter how much he may want to. This isn't like diving into his own memories -- it's strange to be on the toher end of this, and he isn't sure he likes it. That's not what matters, though. He's not here for a vacation. He has a purpose.

He doesn't need to be able to make out the man to know who he is. Nick has heard plenty from Rey, and the man's tone, dripping with the kind of arrogant amusement that makes the synth's proverbial blood boil, tells him the rest. He instead settles his eyes on the woman who would eventually be Rey. There's not much more he can do than watch her face, try to understand what she's going through, what she felt in that moment.

But every now and then, the closer the memory comes to the end, his eyes are drawn to that glitching table, and to the body that lies beneath. The first glance is painful enough for him, given all that has happened in Hadriel and who the gods chose to bring there; there is a flash from his own memory, her body no longer twisted and burned, but bleeding out from a gunshot wound. It's Undine one second, then Jenny the next, and—

Nick forces himself to look away. With as many gruesome and grisly sights as he's seen over the years, even in a wasteland like the Commonwealth, even some are too much for him to bear... especially now.

Tragic as this memory may be, it helped shape this woman into the Rey he knows. He starts moving again without a word to his guide, wondering if, in their connection, she caught that flicker from his own mind.

30th;

[hasitsthorns]

It's been hard, honestly, to see Rey in such a state. While Rose knows that she's alive, it might be hard to convince someone else otherwise. The cadence of her breathing is so light and her body's still as the countless number of the deceased she witnessed in Haven's days. The only thing missing is the blankness in her eyes, which- Rose is grateful that hers are closed.

She's been coming and going. When she asked Nick about updates, there wasn't much to relay. So she kept herself occupied with the orchard. Being sick had put a bit of a strain on everything but thankfully people here were kind enough to pick her sorry self up and get her right as rain. She seems to have shaken off whatever it was going around. That's more than can be said for some but she understands perhaps better than anyone that Fear needs his juice. Without him, they can't move again should the need to arise.

"Hey," she says, noticing when she comes in today that Rey's a little more... awake today. Maybe? There's a deeper rhythm to her breathing, something about the way Tripod stirs that indicates maybe the woman had been awake. "You finally back with us or what?"

[circumitus]

Her eyes open the second she hears someone entering through the front door. Expecting it to be Nick, she goes to sit upright, only to find Rose to be her visitor. Not someone who she would have anticipated, as her memories of the past several weeks are hazy and disjointed, but also not someone who she is remiss to see.

"Hey," she replies, throat dry and head heavy with groggy fatigue. All the more reason why Rey doesn't risk crawling out of bed at this moment. "It seems that way. Guess I was out for a while."

For what reason, she's still trying to piece that puzzle together.

[hasitsthorns]

Does she remember? The blond's eyes narrow as she considers how much to give away. While she doesn't know maybe as much as some others, it was still an interesting few weeks.

"Yeah, you were," is all she says to that. "Asleep for like a week." Before that, well. Not quite herself. How much of it Rey recollects, however, is yet to be seen. "I wish I could nap like that."

30th, late night.

[synthedick]

Nick prefers a routine: he patrols in the morning, works at the headquarters in the afternoon, makes another round through the city streets in the evening. Past that is when he'd normally go home -- he'd sit on the couch, work out shifts and maps, transcribe posts on the network, all while in the company of Rey and Tripod. He could work in his office, but he liked taking it into the den where the two of them could talk. Sometimes they would, sometimes they wouldn't; sometimes, they'd just enjoy the silence and each other's company.

That routine has been disrupted for a month now, slowly shifting into a new one. After his evening rounds, he goes back to the office, stays until late in the night. Some nights, he walks the streets until morning, his mind elsewhere, same as his Rey -- as Safronov, as she's been for a while. If not for Tripod and Wellingham, he might not have gone home at all. It's not much of a home without his family, now is it?

He has her back now, but things haven't changed much: he still patrols late, coming home once a day -- usually late at night -- just to see if anything has changed. It's all the same so far: Wellingham in his bowl next to the succulent, Tripod in Rey's room, Rey on her bed, unmoving. Safronov indicated she could fix things, but as the days pass and Rey doesn't stir, Nick wonders if that was just something she said to placate him. It's easier to just keep patrolling, focusing on what he can do -- there's nothing he can do for her now.

And that's what he tells himself the night he comes home and things have changed. Rey might hear him out in the den, the telltale signs it's Nick wandering around all there: there's the sound of his coat sliding off his mechanical body, dropped onto the back of his easy chair; he crosses the room with his slightly uneven gait, one leg hitting the ground just a little heavier than the other, as it has since she repaired it; he stops where the fish sits near the window, murmuring a few words to him before letting out a heavy sigh from a breath that his artificial body didn't even need to take. The footsteps draw closer to her door and stop just outside it.

But he doesn't enter just yet, as though the fear of disappointment keeps him at the threshold. He's not used to that feeling. Then again, he wasn't used to having a family before this place, either, and just as he was getting used to it, he lost it. Maybe briefly, maybe permanently -- either way, it hurts like hell. Swallowing down his uncertainty, he pushes the door open.

[circumitus]

When Rey hears the front door open, she knows immediately that it's no mere visitor or intruder. She's still trying to process how much time had passed, between the flashes of memory from her precursor to the strange hazy bits in between.

She opens her mouth to call out to him, but her voices doesn't quite reach passed her throat. So rather than waiting, she throws the blanket off her legs, burying Tripod under the covers as she goes to swing her feet over the mattress.

There are so many things she needs to ask. About how long she had been out, if Safronov had done anything that she doesn't remember -- but most of all, how Nick is. If she were in his shoes, she knows how wrecked she would be. And while he might be a machine, he's got more of a heart than many flesh and blood men Rey has ever known.

Instead of any of those things or even a simple hello, what comes out is a surprised yelp and a harsh thud as her knees buckle upon her first attempt to stand.

By the time Nick enters the room, he finds Rey in a heap on the floor, trying to push herself upright with shaky arms.

[synthedick]

Nick wasn't expecting anything, save for Tripod to glance at him with that single eye of his, refusing to budge from his vigil at the foot of the bed. Maybe that low level of expectation is one reason Nick is so surprised to hear the ruckus from the room. He cannot push that door open fast enough as he steps inside, his eyes landing on the floor and the woman who lies there. Like her, he opens his mouth to say something, but words just don't come; barely a whisper of a syllable gets through his throat before he's on his knees, trying to help her off the floor. He tries again, wanting to believe.

"Rey? Can you hear me?"

And the unspoken question: is it really you?

16th

[onlyanautomaton]

Shortly after returning from his journey, Oscar gathers what items he can from Miss Safronov's list. The effects of the orb containing the unique energy for Mr. Hope have begun to fade, leaving in their place a somewhat colder sense of dread in him concerning the danger of Miss Rey's current situation. If she has not taken enough steps to resolve it by now, she will be closer to succumbing to the infection now than when he left.

He checks her residence first; it appears that no one is there. He continues on his way to the coordinates he visited before his departure two weeks earlier, medical supplies on hand and ready for delivery. He notes the light shining from within and then raises his hand to gently knock on the door and announce himself.

Only to be promptly halted by a piercing scream on the other side.

Oscar recoils, visibly alarmed by the sound; the sheer volume and pitch of it indicates that it is clearly and unmistakably a cry of distress. Spurred into action, his body's next movements are mostly dictated by impulse. His hand surges forward and the door is flung open. The terrible sight that greets him is enough to confirm his fears.

"Miss Rey!" he finds he calls to her as he manages to shift from his momentarily petrified state in the doorway. He moves across the room and stops near her; he would kneel at her side were it not for her violent thrashing. He quickly becomes more fearful once he is stationed there, unsure of how to proceed. There is blood spilling forth from her nose, trails of it already staining the stone floor. She is clutching her head.

He draws back a little, trying to calm himself. He should consider how a case like this would be treated at the Clinic and recall his training with Mr. Solace.

"Miss Safronov! Please: tell me what it is you need!"

The rules of human medicine don't strictly apply here.

[circumitus]

Time has not been kind. The pain keeps getting worse, and the feeling of losing control overpowers much of her senses. She's so close to finishing, but if she keeps blacking out like this...

No, no, she has to stay conscious. Hell, sleep hasn't even been something Safronov has afforded herself much of. All it does is serve to tire her out even more.

When she hears the sound of someone approaching, she goes for the gun again. But by the time she starts to turn towards Oscar, the piece slips from her fingers before she even has the chance to turn. The world spinning passed her in the most nauseating way...

Don't shoot. It's okay, she doesn't have to shoot.

Safronov starts pushing herself up off the floor, but stumbles. Not even having the strength to pick up the gun again. Her eyes dart towards the machine man stepping inside, and for a brief moment, Safronov recalls her conversation with that damned synthetic.

"Pain. Something for pain," she chokes out, hand clasping over the side of her face. "Pills. Drugs. Doesn't matter. Need something. Can't think."

[onlyanautomaton]

His gear systems audibly freeze up and falter once the weapon enters his line of sight. The moment is thankfully short-lived in its tension, as the woman loses her grip on the object mere seconds after picking it up, but Oscar's hands remain slightly raised in front of him all the same. He slowly lowers them again when it becomes obvious that Miss Safronov seems to have lost interest in the gun and is now attempting to pick herself up from the floor.

He advances, tentative in his movements at first, before crouching down to her level, alert to the weapon in close proximity. Resting his weight on his knee, he searches the small bag of supplies he brought with him as fast as he can and withdraws two pills for her consumption, both consisting of what he understands to be a type of low- to medium-strength medication intended for the temporary relief of pain in humans. After silently offering them to her in the palm of his open hand, he digs through the bag once more for a bottle of water to go with them.

His gaze doesn't stray from her face as he waits for her to ingest the medicine, prepared to lend a hand or arm to her as support if need be.