#rotilian

the smell is foul and typically one he wouldn't mind, grown used to it over the years, but the scene.. barely from their coma and already wasted. a shame. he'll make note of it in their file, alongside one for that expectant smirk that'd greeted him. where zeno looks ever like his predecessor. or.. almost like him. lacking the primordial edge. that charm that once made him suck his teeth in wonder ; what all was hiding behind the curtain ?

a crude demonstration from a crude imitation. breaking things that don't belong to him is an anticipated disappointment, the doctor kneeling beside his late charge with a readied hand, searching for a pulse he doesn't expect to find. " i do wish you were more in tune with restraint. " more dead than before that bullet carved a pretty tunnel between their eyes. blood leaking, black and thick, into what was bloodshot, once. a newborn, stared up at their father. " snuffing out such potential. " and in his office, no less. the mess, he knows that was intentional.

narrow jaw is dwarfed beneath a wide palm, ashen skin matched with his own as their head is turned from right, to left, and back again. no marks but the one he'd left meant they hadn't been here. not yet. not likely.. but never impossible.

" if you're here for the girl, i'm still busy with her. " keeping watch from the shadows. making little discoveries about grace ashcroft every time her itty bitty body shivers in the dark. an impressive display means he'd been correct. exquisite and ready to blossom if only someone showed her how. the delicate touch he knows and @riphalos has proven he doesn't. another lacking trait. it plays a part in why he elects not to look at him. stay crouched, stroking shaggy bits of auburn hair back towards the patchy scalp it sprouted from, " my patients are all fragile.. they need time to understand their purpose. "

" —beautiful. " hiding such a thing behind glasses and masks, he earns the tut that admonishes him. scolds the shame of emptied sockets while leant closer, " you mentioned you were in the city when it happened, " on the phone, when he'd made a call unprompted. it was fascinating what one detour could bring. deviating from his life's work for an opportunity to indulge himself in another sort of otherness. bending at the knees, an old, bothersome ache plays games with back ever-arched. for this, gideon ignores it. for this, he's passive hums and the gentle coax of a thumb, near but not yet invading its target. mr. murdock wouldn't be so cooperative if he did that.. no, it's the doctor's good intentions that keep him seated, the leather of the chair worn from years and years of new admissions. " would you mind if i took a sample ? i'm quite confident i could find your answer for you. "

adventure.. he plays here in his scrap pile, twisting bodies into weapons that fail again and again, and speaks about adventure. not to say there isn't intrigue. not to say victor hadn't perused the swathe of diagrams on that distant desk of his and wondered whether a tweak, here or there, would solve his conundrum. less mechanical, more biological, karl is a smart man, but his shortcomings stand here, at attention. what is this visit if not an opportunity to forge some semblance of .. perhaps not camaraderie, but understanding.

" i believe our definition of adventure differs to some degree, " and he doesn't shield his disappointment from his tongue. misunderstandings were hiccups. they were the gnat you swat till it succumbs. the hurdle you jump because it is low and you, capable. here, they read from different textbooks and their conclusions, while varying, ought verge.. even a fraction would do.

in a typical setting, a sprawl of a lab, all petri dishes and vials filled at an array of levels, one did well to keep their hands to themselves. respect, while fickle, was a necessary tool when genius was at work and curiosity was better seen and not heard. but this setting is atypical and his respect is in short supply, invaluable, and wholly reserved for a time when @rusthunt has earned it.

" take for example— " lenses adjust on their own, zeroing in on the finer details of a wall tacked with the images of familiar and unfamiliar faces. and then it drops. " —this. " picks a model out of the sea of parchment, and approaches it with two wide, casual strides. to the common man, this is one of many macabre projects. iron replaces bones.. gears for a circulatory system. fascinating, but inadequate for a purpose he has, very slowly, started piecing together.

" your craftsmanship is extraordinary, " in the light, the finer details can be appreciated. stroked by a fond appraisal, the doctor only lifts his head once he's assessed the damages done, " but your execution.. well, we can't all have a surgeon's steady hands, can we. " there's the peek of gold. a glittering smile that splits him wide and breeds the notion that he uses the term we deliberately. underhanded kindness when his own fingers know the cool edge of a scalpel well. " the human spine is simple to replicate, but its functions.. "

back to the table, he drops this chart and analyses two more before diverting his attention where it belonged. " if i were a gambling man, i'd wager this subject has been terminated. " the ventral horn of the cord was misshapen, no doubt leading to an entertaining, albeit fruitless, mess of jerking limbs and eventual atrophy. a waste.

she's a frightened dove, lost between walls, beating her wings bloody. an unfortunate setback. foreseen, perhaps, but optimism hadn't allowed room to plan appropriately. giddiness alive in his belly, victor rushed through a delicate moment and, now, feels his regret for that immensely. or that is the image he presents. behind a frown and his brows stitched to furrow. he huffs both for the effort it takes to bring himself down, down, down to her level, as well as the idea that he could not care about something, someone, so important. every road lead to grace ashcroft.

" of course i care. " not enough to loosen the tether that binds wrists to armrests. not enough to lose sight of what's important. mercy oft gave way to ignorance and he was many things, but a fool was not one of them. " i've spent my life looking for you grace. " two nods, the flick of a forked tongue, " there is nothing in this world i care about more than you and your well being. "

a white lie. a half-truth. he cared about what she could give him and the rest was circumstantial. her choice to make. whether his care remained hospitable, or.. if it was best to don a clinical overtone. clip his disappointment to his lapel like the badges of old. faced forward, there for the world to see. no.. he would spare her that indignity for now. stroke back the hair tousled into big, blue eyes, blinking rabbit quick and unsure where to look. " shhh.. you'll make yourself sick at this rate. " up here, my dear.

sedation would work.. it's an avenue to consider.

gideon rises and, looking down upon her from his full height, she's diminutive and shrinking. bites her own lips because she's too uncertain about the words behind them, he imagines. " you must have many questions. "

sat where all patients eventually sit, across from his desk, the walk to assume his own position is slow and purposeful. to drag long, cracked fingers across tabletop. move one folder to the side, another, and pluck his target from where it'd hidden itself away, below. in the corner, etched quick and bold, her name. tacked to the front, her face. inside is a detailed observation of the goings on that placed her where he'd wanted and, now, it all feels so.. obsolete. insignificant while the genuine article is feet away. not quite ripe, but he would wait for the picking to come into season.

gold is sparkling, a small peek behind a grin. teeth chatter, grind, then hold firm in a clench that makes his broadened elation look forced and momentarily unsound.

he is a child, fussy and invasive, there on orders that have little to do with the doctor's work and everything to do with very, very distant men who lacked faith in the bigger picture. no patience. he cultivates the flowers of the future and they sit at the ready with sheers and books prepared to press them. allowing their dog off its lead is just more nuisance in a long line of nuisances.

" remind me again why you're here, @enddemics, " captain. commander. lieutenant. victor hadn't listened when he'd introduced himself and, now, his hands wrist deep in the belly of a cadaver, he's in no mind to clarify, either. tickles the underside of a lung with one thick, intrusive fingers and, when pulling back, the squelch is harsh and carrying. a fine addition to his chorus once the organ hits its tray and wobbles a racket this sterile room effortlessly carries. " perhaps i misheard you. "

he's a plumber, looking for leaks that aren't here. no ruptured confidence among his staff. no peg out of line. nothing leaves this hospital without his concent and that, now, includes his newest grievance. tall, capable, still easily stared down at when where the doctor's straightened. smears a wide shadow where dim light can't reach. some people, for all the good they did, would only ever amount to this. a specimen pinned by studious eyes and a deepening frown.

what does it take to wake the dead ? it's a question many men have asked and died in the pursuit of the answer for. looking in all the wrong places, victor would have advised them to learn how to dig. through ash and rubble, it's a mess only learned eyes would know was special. had been scooped with tenderness, carefully into several vials stored in a briefcase hauled by his assistant. a nurse, mute and compliant, didn't ask why they were there. nor why they left the husk of the village so quickly. she wouldn't understand. couldn't feel the giddy lurch in his stomach. no, she wouldn't have been able to predict that three weeks later, under the tutelage of a patriarch's love and care, those tiny specks of fungus would bloom. grow.. stretch long and, eventually.. " mr. winters, can you hear me ? "

rot is a peculiar smell. putrid, of course, but the tang of sweetness that chases it sits at the back of his throat and makes him swallow. flick a forked tongue with impatience once eyelids provide signs of life and the dismal glow of the room is switched off in favor of something.. more. red. warm. it fits. sparkles on a mask that hides a much anticipated reward. " you're awake.. good. " pen light angles down into ill-prepared eyes, their mismatched nature stitching a rumble, deep in his chest, emerges as a chuckle, " i was hoping to meet you under better circumstances, but— " he'd ran. tore through a city's streets with panicked strides and momentum enough he hadn't seen the body, large and imposing, in his path. " we have much to talk about, you and i, mr. lawrence... or do you prefer the name jack ? "