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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[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.]

I hope this wasn’t too much trouble.

[Look at you, Dankovsky. Look at this mess you’ve left.]

[They rescued you. Didn’t ask too many questions, and this is how you repay them? At least ask after their own wellbeing, you brute.]

How are you feeling?

Sorry, did you say you only meditate?

[the ask is confusing; for a moment, Daniil gave the impression that he wanted nothing more than to vanish as quickly as he could. why would he want to linger, ask about them?

it's not unkind, but it's...well, confusing. they are stuck between eagerness and a strange kind of guilt - that sense that they are taking up space they aren't shaped for, the way they often did in Traint.]

I--yes... I can get by with two, four hours of careful thought and be well enough. [they hesitate, then tilt their hand in gesture.] If...you knew to ask, then you know of the practice, yes?

You just mentioned it in parallel when I spoke of sleeping and nightmares.

[What other mysteries and surprises does this elf contain? Or elves in general???]

I am typically loathsome of envy, but… two or four hours of meditation in lieu of sleep? Incredible. What do you do with all of your extra time, besides looking after discourteous nighttime guests.

[He sighs.] Let’s walk and talk. I really don’t want to chance someone seeing me like this. Let’s go back to the hospital.

[their eyebrows lift.]

It...will not trouble you? [while trying to stay courteous, they can't mask that they're eager to tag along.]

[See, was that so hard, Dankovsky? Look how happy they are.]

Not at all.

[Daniil fiddles with his hands. They’re clammy now, but he remembers how good they felt between Tristan’s own hands.

What Daniil wants is a hit of morphine. His mind clamors for it. He can’t do that. He shouldn’t do that. He’ll lose Romano’s respect, and worse, his own self respect.]

Are you certain no one is out there?

[blink. Out there?]

...Well. I have yet to step outside and see, but it has been quiet for some time. We shall see for ourselves, no?

[they gesture toward the exit a few steps away.]

I imagine...anyone heading in the same direction would have other things in mind. [what with the hospital being the place to go for injury and malady; bigger fish to fry than night owl strangers.]

[Daniil pokes his head out. The coast is clear. For now. And his hands feel so bare without his gloves. And his psyche feels so untethered-]

You’re probably right.

[He reaches for Tristan’s hand without calling attention to it otherwise. Tristan, who has not once shrunk away or commented on Daniil’s smell or dampness or anything, actually.]

Let’s go, then.

[there is a brief bristle, if only because the contact is so abrupt, unannounced, and lacking hostility. it will take more time to get used to that - of being grabbed for, being touched as a familiar shape. Junpei's done much by way of shoulder-jostling and ribcage-prodding, but hands are spared for more dire moments.

is this? a dire moment? Tristan will only wonder as they take a brisk step to match pace, gripping the lankier hand in their own, ugly one. better to just wonder than ask and be certain.]

The lights inside will still be quite glaring, yes? Perhaps shaded lenses will help you... I, I believe that giant market a ways from here has many--

My room is dark. You can see in the dark, right? I’ll manage until we get in there.

[Guilt rattles in Daniil’s gut. Would he have been so kind were the roles reversed?

He’d cared for patients aplenty. Cleaned and carried every type of bodily fluid there was. But would he have done so with complete openness that Tristan as offered him? Has anyone ever been so nice to him before?]

[Danill walks them into the hospital. He hisses and curses under the bright lights, fucking his head away from them as he brings them to the elevator, then to the third floor, then down the hall.]

[All evidence of the broken mirror had been taken care of. Daniil’s almost not even sure if that part was real.]

[Daniil’s room is a modified patient room with a desk, lamps, books, and little decorations brought in. He sheds his coat like the snakeskin it is to the hook on the back of the door. He removes his shoes and sighs as he starts to unbutton his clothes.]

It’s not that I’m shy, per se.

[He sighs, wobbling on his feet.]

But I realize. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to undress in front of you.

[He turns, unpinning his cravat and setting it on his desk.]

There’s something I’ve been wondering.

[He removes his cufflinks.]

Are you a man?

[things have moved so slowly here that they've finally got a proper sense of whiplash back: this is indeed very swiftly different. they expect the surprises from the park, what with all the drop-traps and spooky noises and irresponsibly large amounts of food they'd encountered. but those are all...terrain and environmental.

this is a person ridding himself of clothes in front of them.

they blink out of the blatant stare that they've been following him with, snapping to attention at the words.

they open their mouth, close it, then frown, brows furrowing. they haven't had this conundrum since the bath house in that book...]

...Partly. [self-consciousness is a rare feeling, and it does quickly paint itself on their face and compel them to bring a hand to their face, finger curling at their chin.] I'm aware I am not...entirely one way or the other, in a way that is not normal.

Oh-

[Daniil stops his undressing and looks at Tristan. This has totally derailed his script. Daniil was used to nudity. He saw it every day. It was normal, fine. He’d grown up in places and contexts where there wasn’t much luxury to be shy. But he would never undress in front of a woman. That would be barbaric.]

[He looks to Tristan’s face for clues on how to proceed here. He realizes he hasn’t said anything.]

It’s normal enough, just uncommon. Many traits are uncommon. Does it cause you pain or dysfunction? [Daniil puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head.]

Have you- I should say, do you recall seeing men undress at any point? Or am I scandalizing you now?

[they're too slow to answer the matter of pain, and perhaps that is for the best. right then and there, they're not sure how to unpack it; those complicated feelings have been carefully folded and stowed - a pin in place, as Ul'grimm would suggest.

(Ul'grimm has yet to follow up and mention that there comes a point when one must release the pin.)

their mouth twitches as they exhale a breathy sound of amusement, obscuring the expression partly behind a couple fingers before it withdraws and they nod.] I am alright, Daniil. [and maybe that answer can suffice for all the questions for now.] Though I will wonder if I am supposed to...feel one way or another about it. Properly.

Usually our parents tell us how to feel. Or society or our peers. I’m not so sure that conformity is useful or ideal. If you are alright, why bother with what you’re supposed to feel? Those sort of small-minded expectations keep us tethered to boring realities. Just feel how you’re going to feel.

[Daniil is honestly too disgusted and uncomfortable in his own clothes to hold off any longer.]

Why don’t you pull out some clean clothes for me? They’re in the drawers there. I asked the bots to bring some things. I’ve been busy.

[The chest of drawers is beside the bed. It gives Tristan an opportunity to turn away without needing to make a choice any which way. Danill removes his belt and his vest, hanging them to hopefully dry without too much absorbed odor before peeling and shucking everything off. He makes little disgusted noises at himself as he leaves it all on the floor.]

[He walks into the bathroom, lights still off, and turns on the shower. He clambers in and sits on the floor.]

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cw nonsexual(?) nudity probably