etraya | un: Bachelor

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un: Bachelor | text

Attention Fellow People of Etraya,

I am Doctor Daniil Dankovsky, Bachelor of Medicine. As I understand it, few of you have seen a doctor lately. That simply won’t do! Please, don’t wait to get sick to establish care. I am situated in the hospital, ready to take consent forms and make updated medical histories. At least a few of you have unaddressed concerns, I just know it. The average person comes to see the doctor when it’s too late! Though we cannot die here, there is no reason to suffer unduly.

And if you are otherwise healthy, perhaps think of it as helping me out. In the event of an outbreak, it is far more helpful to have complete clinical pictures of the inhabitants. Especially, as I understand it, there are many biological differences in this population.

Please come visit me during my clinic hours, every day from 10am to 6pm.

[What Daniil really wants is to meet more of the unusual inhabitants of Etraya more quickly as well as conduct casual interviews of the sort of people who are slated to save the universe. But he can’t just say that completely outright.]

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[moved with pity and the adrenaline of urgency, Tristan foregoes any further checkpoints; that they asked at all up front is already progress, rather than simply charging forward on instinct and hopes and magic, and the tiger cannot change their stripes after one scary moment in the face of another they wish to change.

they murmur an assurance, eyes briefly fluttering closed as they pivot their thoughts from the healing magics for battle injuries to the kind they used to dispel disease - the way they'd reach out and embrace a violent foe to sponge the corrosive darkness off them, coupled with that restoration spell from days prior. it means a brighter, more long-lasting light, more effort, but no less sincerity.]

It will be alright.

[Daniil’s heart slows, no longer poisoning himself with his own adrenaline like a prey animal. His tremors cease. (He still has like 3 stacks of exhaustion though.)]

[Daniil allows Tristan to take his weight, feeling calmed and cared for, held aloft and unthinking after the buzz of thoughts just moments before. His voice turns languid, soft.]

I really thought I was going to die…

[His vision starts to return to normal, no longer blurred with potent mania.]

Your distress was palpable. [the ease of that heartrate is a relief, but Tristan still feels cause for concern. they adjust their footing to better take Daniil's weight, keeping one arm around his waist and the other propping him upright at the chest. it's not a good position for better examination, so they scan the area around for a place to sit.]

Walk with me just a little. Over to there. [they jut their chin in the direction of one they can see closeby.] Once we're sat, please tell me what happened to leave you in such a state.

I can- I can walk.

[He doesn’t do a very good job of it. Even without worst of his own chemicals, he was now just severely dehydrated. Still. They make it over and he drops himself into his seat.]

[Daniil had basically two choices.]

[I either explain this honestly and answer a barrage of humiliating questions that will give them the wrong idea.]

[Or make up a comfortable lie or excuse. I don’t prefer lying. And I’m not sure I could even remember it later in my state.]

[Its fine. If I describe it abstractly enough, they likely won’t understand.]

[What actually would come out of Daniil’s mouth was another matter.]

I punched a mirror by accident.

[Tristan slips out from under Daniil's arm and turns to crouch before him, setting the arm down in Daniil's lap and inspecting his knuckles. the wounds are healed, but blood remains, they should--

blink.

their eyes lift to Daniil's face.

'by accident.']

...What were you aiming for?

Edited (samll) 2026-05-05 20:51 (UTC)

Myself.

[Whatever, just say whatever I guess. Who needs me, the brain of the operation?]

Just… saw myself in the mirror in the dark. I guess I scared myself.

[their expression pinches with sympathy.]

From...working late, alone? In an unfamiliar place?

[Daniil shakes his head. How does he explain any of this in a way that does not make him pitied and feel humiliated? Perhaps just going with what Tristan suggests is good enough.]

Yes. That’s it.

[ Okay. That would work better if you could keep all the insincerity out of your voice. Jesus Christ. Want to try again?]

Yeah. I’m scared of being alone at night.

[That was worse, Dankovsky. What are we trying to do here?]

[Tristan likes to take people at their face-value word, but they are also a bit to emotionally insightful as to feign ignorance to a feint. still, if playing along is what is necessary to make him feel better, they can accept it.

and to that point, they simply resolve:] Then I will stay with you until daybreak. [they've finished checking his bloodied knuckles and gently guide his fingers to straighten, that they may press each hand in turn between both of theirs and get a little warmth into them after all that clenching and chilling fright.] It will not trouble me to do so.

Where should we go?

[His immediate pain may be resolved, but he still stinks bad with fear sweat and bile and blood. He actually manages to start to feel hunger and thirst like this.]

[Daniil shudders as Tristan holds his hand. He’d left his gloves somewhere in his mania, and now he feels so bare without them. Affection blooms in his chest.]

[good question. if the florescent lights of the hospital trouble him (and they can't really blame that), it won't be back where he'd run from. Tristan hums thoughtfully as they press the other hand between their palms to warm the fingers.]

I won't ask you to make too many decisions all at once, but...I do need to know if you prefer the outdoor air, or would rather be more confined. I think I can narrow it down from there, yes?

Indoors. There’s already insects that have started to wake from their winter slumber. I don’t need a case of malaria in addition to all of this.

[Daniil soothes and sighs with his other hand being brought between Tristan’s. His hands are surely bigger than the other’s, but he feels well encapsulated like this.]

As you wish.

[they don't know what malaria is, but they'll assume it's unpleasant if Daniil doesn't want it. they smile mildly, hoping to convey reassurance and some confidence in what they decide.

but they haven't decided yet.

He's exhausted. The bright lights bother him, but the outdoors would be too exposed. What is nearby...?

they comb their memory and do a brief skim of the area as they rise to stand, the hand still encased in theirs. their focus fixes down the street, past the hospital. the cafe.]

Come with me. It is a short walk. Please let me take your arm, for my own sense of ease.

[Their unequal height makes an amusing image. Daniil, all his puppet strings cut, clinging desperately to Tristan.]

[Daniil lets his eyes slip mostly closed. He drags his feet so he cannot trip. It’s easier to stay at pace this way with his longer legs.]

[He has no idea how long it actually takes, nor does he pay attention to where they’re going. He figures it’ll all reveal itself when then stop.]

I’m so tired… [A little complaint slips from him, barely more than a whisper.]

[there's a brief halt so Tristan can get the door open, but they ultimately guide Daniil to sitting in the little wedge that a booth corner makes, lightly pushing some of the table aside with their hip for the space to do so.

mildly:] If you are like humans where I am from, then you do require some hours of sleep, no? [once they've got this tree of a man sat, they keep a stabilizing hand on his shoulder.] You may put your feet up, if you like. You needn't fight sleep if you crave it. [they'll just have to move quicker to provide a bit better support for his poor neck.]

I definitely do need sleep. I’ve slept in poorer situations.

[He lays down in the booth seat and pulls his legs up. He’s so exhausted that he starts to drift immediately.]

[Daniil’s out like a light. He seems like he has troubled dreams. Just continuing to sweat into his clothes for the next few hours.]

[Tristan is mindful to help him situate before he's too far gone, leaving him be for a few moments to scour the empty place. water, napkins...that'll do.

moving the table further out, they kneel before him and gingerly wipe at the blood on his skin with a dampened napkin, dabbing at the sweat on his face with a drier one. as they do so, they hum the ritual healing prayer they were taught in Traint quietly, something they rarely got to use to aid their friends in the Mothwood, what with how fast everything kept moving. they hope it can help.]

Heavy as a history book can be,
I will carry it with me onward.
Maybe when the bitterness is done
There will be sweetness on our tongues once more.

[the words they were given to remember the spell's movements...they didn't really make sense to them that early on. they had no memory of enough life lived to feel it, hadn't known enough strife of others or their own to understand. it's getting easier.

in the midst of some of that uncomfortable fidgeting, Tristan will help his sleeping form adjust, settling down and letting his head rest in their lap.

from there it is a quiet vigil, drifting in and out of meditation to collect and consider the moments and feelings woven together.]

[Daniil doesn’t sleep terribly long. A couple hours, perhaps, before the odd angle he set his hips and his cold sweat damp shirt truly begins to chafe.]

[Daniil wakes blearily, his memory not serving him any useful details as he feels around his pillow. A lap. A lap that he’s managed to drench in his own sweat. He turns onto his back as much as he can in the booth, spine creaking and popping as he goes.]

Tristan…?

[Last night- no, hours ago, start to come in waves.]

Oh god, I reek- Oh god I’m soaked, and so are you now.

[Daniil sits up hurriedly, wiping locks of damp hair out of his face.]

Where… [He looks around] are we?

[Tristan's ears tipped them off to his stirring, but they kept still and waited for him to find his own way. they open their eyes and tilt their head to watch him pop up and fuss with himself, vigilant for any trouble-signs.]

It is a small dining place by the hospital. A few buildings away, not far at all. It is still not yet dawn, so none have come by. [in case being observed was an issue.]

How are you feeling?

Absolutely disgusting. [He grimaces, checking his breath, and cringing.] And parched.

[He stands and goes to the self-serve water cooler and drinks four cups in succession before huffing and puffing. He picks up a lemon and puts the entire thing in his mouth to chew.]

[He is immensely grateful no one has come by. He runs some calculations in his mind. Where was the safest bet? Well. He had only collected clothing in his personal space. There was glass all over the floor, probably-]

[He looks at his hand, marveling. He can’t even remember if he actually did punch a mirror?]

[Tristan watches owlishly, curious and invested in learning this man's peculiarities. they wonder if this is common for them -- if sleeping so restlessly and sweating through his shirt is common, too.

after a moment, they sit forward and gather up the small bunches of napkins they'd gone through over the time, rising to dispose of them and return the table to its proper place. it'll be like they were never there. sorta, probably.]

No...burning blood, yes?

Burning blood?

[He just repeats, uncertain. It sounds like some awful medieval disease. Or- ah.]

Do you mean a fever? [Daniil plucks at his wet shirt and his filthy cravat.]

No. I have no fever. Haven’t you ever woken up in a cold sweat? Like the night before a terrible test? Or the evening after a stressful event?

[once their hands are free, they wander over to where Daniil's been noshing on a whole-ass lemon.]

I've struggled to meditate, yes. But I ask because you spoke as such hours ago. [and in saying that, they worry a little.]

Can you still remember calling me and meeting outside?

[He spits the lemon into the disposable cup, then drops it all into the trash.]

[Daniil’s cheeks burn. That was a display of weakness he would not repeat if he could help it.]

I can. I haven’t slept much in days. There’s no good reason for it.

[Liar.]

…Thank you for assisting me. I can take it from here, Tristan.

[He can’t even look at Tristan. The relief they gave him. The sweat damp spot he left. It’s humiliating.]

...Ah.

[Tristan hesitates, feeling unease in their chest. they think it's worry for the 'no good reason' lack of sleep and how distressed it left Daniil - enough to reach out to someone they only spoke to once in his life.

that, coupled with how much they feel compelled to be of use, makes them anxious. often, they need not feel the pressure of their imposition, given so many of those past circumstances were dire and not really grounds for negotiation. but here, they can be dismissed, and...well, that is that. isn't it?

they should respect Daniil's will, freely used.

so, pushing a pained smile:] You'll...call upon me again, yes? Should you need my help. [if that is all they are meant to be, they should at the very least do it.]

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