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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[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.]

[how strange...

Tristan's mildly amused smile lingers for a beat before they're put to a task - one that they quietly move to see to. movement helps; the space is still real, they haven't idled off in thought to baffle anyone. rather, they're the one being baffled.

Without armor, without clothes... I'm being...trusted so much. Even after...doing unintentional harm.

they pull the drawer open, startling gently at the sound of the water behind them before rifling through. they draw out a simple button-up shirt and set it on the drawer's surface.

Maybe...

socks join them.

Maybe he is mad, as Stanford was mad.

trousers, underclothes.

But madness isn't the only reason to trust someone who wishes to help. Even if...so many people have acted that way before.

they rest a hand over their heart and gauge its pace, expression distant and contemplative.

The speed, but without the pressure... Which one is this...?]

[Daniil sits and scrubs himself with impunity as water pours in from overhead like so much rain. He likes it, he likes it better than just the bathhouse and certainly mote than filling a tub and soaking in it, feeling like soup. He stands to scrub himself down twice, until that sour smell is finally out of his skin and hair and his finally feels properly clean.]

[Daniil turns off the water and crawls out of the shower. He feels refreshed, but still exhausted. His eyes are incredibly dry. He knows without looking at them that his eyes are bloodshot. He brushes his teeth three times before using a mouthwash. Daniil had really enjoyed the modern hygiene aisle.]

[He rubs his chin. A bit of stubble was coming in, but he wasn’t about to pick up a razor with the shake of his hands. He comes back into his room with his towel wrapped around his waist to find his helpful, stalwart, companion.]

Were you successful?

[well, mad or not, Tristan supposes it may be clearer with time and understanding. the novelty of folk here just...not minding aspects of Tristan that they'd grown to know as strange or downright ominous has yet to wear off, even after this month or so, and that surely is what drives some of this excitement.

much to think about.

for now, their ears are full of the sounds at their back, prompting their attention and reminding them of the task at hand. was this...fair enough? they think so, but they'll find out rather quickly, won't they.

at the call, they turn partway and step back from the dresser, gesturing to what they'd left atop it.]

Yes. I...believe so. You may tell me otherwise. [though it may not stick. for the moment, they tilt their head and survey this soggier state of Daniil, habitually surveying for harm before consideration that his is not a body that's been doing the hard labor they recognize (not a whole lot of doctors digging for ore underground, that's sensible) nor carrying the signatures of martial combat (probably for the best, unless he were a cleric as they were...in which case, a lack would mean he's a better cleric for avoiding the scars).]

[He has what he would consider an ordinary amount of scars for his time. The student riots, the mischief of young drunken men.

The most recent, and unusual, is a gunshot scar in the shoulder where Tristan is too short to see while Daniil faces him, exiting next to his bony hip]

I’m sure they’re just fine. As long as they’re clean and they fit, I don’t mind.

[Daniil cannot really see in the dark. Whatever is there he will see in the morning. For now, he identifies clothes by touch. In his exhaustion, he forgets himself. Could Tristan see in the dark? No matter. He’s getting cold like this.]

[He lets the towel drop to pull on the clean underwear, a remarkable comfort in comparison to what he had on before. He sits on the bed to put on the socks, and before long he’s dressed again. But he’s still cold. He shivers. He remembers the way he sweated on Tristan.]

Would you like something clean to wear?

Me-? [there's a tilt to the voice that's unusual to their ears - almost a squeak. it is jarring enough to give cause to blink their eyes a few times (yep. darkvision.,) and recalibrate, patting at themself for a sense of their own attire.]

No, I... I am alright, thank you. And I am much smaller, besides. [not that looking silly is much to be concerned about, but...they'd look silly, no?] The offer is...is kind, all the same.

[Daniil Dankovsky gets called beanpole. And though it offends him, it is true.]

You are much shorter. You are not significantly smaller. Is it not still damp?

[Daniil, who is becoming audibly more stressed.]

[It's animal hide, it will be alright. And besides--

they halt the thought, exhaling quietly through their nose as if to evict it.]

If it will put you at ease, I will accept a spare change. I can assure that I am not troubled as I am. [but they may become troubled under this particular microscope, even with the lights off.]

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cw nonsexual(?) nudity probably

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