2020-08-06: What Lives On
- Log: What Lives On
- Cast: Citan Uzuki, Ida Everstead-Rey
- Where: The Thames - Market
- Date: August 06, 2020
- Summary: Ida, given room to have concerns about her arm's graft of late, comes to ask Citan for his advice and to give her an evaluation. He does what he can.
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
There are rooms for rent aboard the Thames. Outside the diehards and long-term workers and their families and the actual residents of the floating city, many work or travel here only seasonally. Who need some space in which to live, particularly when bunk space alone just won't cut it (or when the Thames just doesn't have any beds left...).
The most one can say is that they are in the 'extremely affordable' range, because the rooms open for seasonal workers have been subdivided to provide as many rentable rooms as possible, to the detriment of... just about everything else. Still, with a little clever arrangement of what's provided--
Some attempt has been made to tidy the space up. The phrase 'some attempt' is applicable because it's clear from the slightly off-kilter look of things that this space must have been messier in the not-too-distant past. There's a screen, beyond which is likely a futon or some sort of bedding situation. There's another apparently-recent bedding situation on the other side of the screen, though some attempt has been made to fold this up, as if it's not in active use at present. There's the small table, the two small stools that sit near it...
...oh, and the pile of scrap metal and parts and scattered tools and other across the table's surface. A screwdriver rests, damningly, on the floor.
"..."
Citan Uzuki's expression has grown somewhat strained as he takes in the mess. The mess that he himself has wrought.
"My... apologies, Miss Iverstead-Rey," he says, and perhaps something of his wife's remarks have finally rubbed off on him because he's actually ashamed about the mess, this time. "I had thought that I had put all of that away. Please excuse me for the state of this room. ...I suppose this is what happens when I am 'left to my own devices'...?"
He shakes his head before going to attempt to at least move most of the junk to the side.
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Isabel Eco, one of the Thames' crew chiefs, is the closest thing that Ida's mother has to a sister. Therefore--as she's come to learn--visits to the Thames inevitably involve at least a little good-natured fussing-over. This time, Isabel asked where Ida's man was, and told her he looked like a catch.
Ida still has no idea how she's going to break the news to her parents.
Still, she arrives at Citan's room with time to spare, and engages in the usual pleasantries with a familiar sort of politeness. There was a point in time when Ida would've been quietly mortified about the mess, but said nothing. That time has long since passed, due in no small part to the fact that it's difficult to keep one's environs clean while in the throes of major depression.
"Oh, it's not a problem at all," she says, while looking for a place to sit. Training with a crazy old hermit who lived in a scrapyard broadened her idea of 'mess', as well as 'acceptable places to sit'. "I'm simply glad that we have a private place to discuss matters."
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
While not a messy man by nature, it can be said that Citan Uzuki has his own sense of orderliness (a fact to which Gwen can attest) and is prone to leave things be until he can get back to them rather than disturb a work-in-progress.
There's a purpose to even his system of arranging his things, but it only makes sense to him. In other words, it's chaotic.
Yui had some success with getting him to clean up in their house at Lahan, but had opted to not even get involved when it came to the shed and what rapidly become 'her husband's junkyard' in the back. Some hills are not worth dying on.
Still, it isn't as if her opinion on the proper order of things hasn't to some degree rubbed off on him... to the point where it comes out, now, in the presence of a woman like Ida. It would make sense, after all -- he is a simple country doctor, whereas she...
One of the stools is clear. The other has a dirty bit of rag. It looks like it's stained with machine oil and... rust?
Citan doesn't so much clean up as sort of remove things to a different pile to the side, much to his later self's -- when the time comes to unpick what he'd been doing again -- chagrin.
Then, once, Ida is seated, he settles in himself.
"Now then, er, Miss Everstead-Rey... you had mentioned prior that you had a... medical concern?" He readjusts his glasses a fraction and regards her. "Something that must be discussed in private."
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida takes a seat on the cleared stool, folds one leg over the other, and settles her hands in her lap. The urge to find something to fiddle with rises in her--there's no shortage of possibilities--but this is Citan's room, and the junk inside is his property. She keeps her hands still, and waits for him to take a seat.
"It's the graft," Ida says. Citan knows the basics, of course--originally ripped from the living body of a Hyadean, it saw use as an improvised prosthetic by one of Ida's ancestors. When Ida gained that ancestor's permission to take the relic, it 'came alive' and merged with her, displaying properties that its previous human owner had never manifested. In effect, it has turned her into a novel chimera--largely-human, but augmented by living Hyadean tissue. Alien cells and organs coexist with human ones in a sort of tenuous harmony.
"I believe that the last time we spoke on the matter, it had infiltrated my nervous system," Ida says. "But sometimes--even before then--I'd had... feelings that weren't quite my own. Sensations of deja vu."
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
He understands the basics of it, and along with it what he had learned about it -- or had been able to learn about it -- in the wake of the fusion. It had been a first for him, so he had been forced to learn on his feet, primitive equipment and all.
Though, to be quite honest, it was likely a 'first' in many senses of the word...
"Hm..." Citan rubs at his chin thoughtfully. "How recently has this started? Have you noticed any... difficult with the limb otherwise? For instance, have you noticed any degradation in the motor functions, lack of sensation, odd temperature sensations... or has the phenomenon been restricted to your limbic system alone?"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida shakes her head. "Not... much, that I can recall. It does shift in response to subconscious stimuli on occasion, but as I understand it, that isn't too far from the Hyadean norm." As for when it started, well, that's a difficult question to answer, judging by Ida's long pause.
"I think, perhaps, the battle with Mother. It was so easy to dismiss, then. It's been growing more noticeable ever since."
"It is approaching the point," Ida says, "where I am increasingly certain that an echo of the arm's owner remains."
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
He leans back a degree, folding his arms over his chest. Just the once, he looks her over. "I see... And you are certain it is not reacting to your own subconsciousness? Our own nervous system is," and he lifts a hand here to push up his glasses, "an impressive biological feat, you know. I have heard it said that 'we' are in the dark of much of what our brain and the rest of the nervous system conduct second-to-second -- in fact, there has even been the thought that our 'conscious self' is a mere accident! Of course, I have my own thoughts on the matter, as it were, but..."
Citan trails off here, though, and regards her again.
He has become in the blink of an eye a much more sober man.
"...No, you have reason to believe it is otherwise. Is that right, Miss Iverstead-Rey? Truth be told..."
He rises to his feet after a moment, walking across the cramped quarters for the semi-hidden space behind the folding screen.
"...It is a common thing to think of 'our brain' as the sole source of ourselves. But the nervous system does not end there," he says, from the other end of the room. He's searching for something, apparently, to judge by the rustling sounds. "But this is strictly not the case. The spinal cord... the peripheral nerves... to say nothing of the enteric nervous system alone! No, we are our bodies as well as our minds," he says, re-emerging with his doctor's kit in hand.
"And I would say that when it comes to what a M--Hyadean may recall... well, who can say? Their bodies possess faculties ours could not. Who is to say that traces may not live on through an arm?"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida seems to shrink back a little as Citan questions her--the part of her that remembers Doctor Bridges and his 'more rational explanations' places its hand on the wheel, and pulls ever-so-slightly. "I confess that was why I didn't suspect this sooner," she says. "There were incidents where my body changed shape without my conscious thought--growing claws or armor in response to danger, the whole arm growing--" Ida's breath hitches in her throat as she forces herself to recall that ugly scene. "--monstrous, in response to fear that I truly was a monster. My control is far more refined these days, but..."
The concept of a more composite nervous system is new to Ida, and she listens to Citan with interest. The persona of the uncertain young academic, having put in a brief appearance in Ida's mannerisms, is now gone. "I know for certain that the tissue extends well beyond my arm, at this point--Kalve told me that it infiltrated my heart, lungs, and gut immediately after the merger. Likely desperate to sustain itself. God, I was so hungry." Ida pauses, and draws in a breath. "Apologies, I'm talking just to talk."
"Fei told me he could feel a second presence within me," Ida says, completely straight-faced. "Very weak, but there nevertheless."
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
"While it is true that there is a great deal going on in the depths of our minds of which we are not aware," Citan says, catching perhaps that flinch of hers, "at the same time yours is perhaps a singular existence."
The medical bag is set down with a gentle thunk on the table.
"There is much that is not known about Hyadean physiology, your own work aside, Miss Iverstead-Rey. Moreover..." He digs through the bag, turning up first a pressure cuff, which he sets off to one side before finding what he's actually looking for, an oral thermometer in a oiled leather case. He pauses a moment, tilting his head as if in thought. "...Infiltrated major organ systems... interesting. That reminds me of something, actually. Have you ever heard of 'chimerism'? It is a fascinating subject, though rather difficult to assess! ...If you do not mind, Miss Iverstead-Rey, I would like to take your temperature. ...I admit, I would be interested to see if the graft registers a different temperature from the human baseline, but that would require, ah, perhaps a more refined instrument than a mercury thermometer?"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida lets out a breath, and with it, a little tension. It's... comforting, to encounter another medical professional who won't simply tell her that her problems are all in her head.
"It's times like these that make me miss Kalve all the more keenly." There's a great deal of worry there, kept in careful check. She watches as Citan unpacks his bag, noting the perfectly normal instruments within. Her head cocks to the side at the unexpected question. "...I've heard of chimera, but not 'chimerism'. What is it?" Pause. "Oh, by all means, go ahead."
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
Perfectly normal... and all a touch on the older side. But he is a country doctor, isn't he? Of course nothing he has is going to be precisely 'bleeding edge'. In fact, pretty much the most advanced thing he made use of in regular practice was vaccination.
"Ah, yes, I suppose you would not have, given your academic focus. I assume you are not familiar with cattle, Miss Iverstead-Rey, though please forgive me if you are. There is a phenomenon among twin cattle when the twins are not the same sex... instead, what results is a male calf and a freemartin. Some of her brother's cells cross over to her while in utero, you see, so instead of developing as a heifer, she develops as if she were a castrated steer."
He turns to regard her for a moment. "...In the same sense that you know a 'chimera' as a creature composed of many different elements, 'chimerism' is when the same happens on a cellular level. Most commonly, this appears to have happened 'in utero', though there have been some fascinating suggestions that..."
Citan trails off, as if to remember suddenly that he was about to take a few vital signs. "...My apologies, Miss Iverstead-Rey. Please, do not let me talk your ear off." He slips the thermometer out of its leather case. "Do not worry. This has been sterilized," he says, inspecting it a moment, then giving it a practiced shake. "This should only take a few moments--"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida listens with visible interest, her brow furrowing ever-so-slightly. "I'd never heard of such a thing," she says. "But I imagine if I'd been born to farmers, I would've. That's so strange to think about, though." Citan trails off, apologizes. Ida shakes her head. "No, no, continue." She waits, patiently, as he shakes down the mercury. "I find it calming." Once the thermometer is set up, Ida opens her mouth ever-so-slightly, and situates the device without complaint.
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
"It is quite fascinating! That is also not the only example. Humans, too, may be affected by chimerism, though the effects are rarely as visible as in a freemartin. There have been reports that some mergers, where they are present in the skin cells, can be visualized under ultraviolet light," the doctor continues, only hesitating once it appears that he may be going on and on as is his wont.
But Ida tells him to continue, and so, after slipping the thermometer in--
Citan does so. "Ahem," he says, readjusting his glasses as if out of habit. "Where was I... ah, yes." He pauses a moment, as if to collect his thoughts. "...There has apparently been some theorizing about what might result if we were able to properly transplant organs," he says, regarding the far wall for a moment. "As you may know, the immune system provides, shall we say, an impediment in that regard? Nevertheless, if it were made possible, might we also call those transplantees a sort of chimera?"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida keeps right on listening, nodding politely at appropriate intervals. It isn't that she doesn't want to ask questions, it's just that she can't do that with the thermometer in her mouth. And besides, Citan's patter is enlightening as well as relaxing.
The mercury inches upwards, eventually settling at 36.2 Celsius. Once she's free to speak again, Ida nods and chimes in. "Not simply organs," she says, "but blood as well--though technically I suppose that is an organ. I underwent such a procedure myself, after the graft bonded with me. We were fortunate to have a compatible Hyadean donor on hand."
Ida then pauses for a long moment. "At the very least, I feel... less freakish than I did this morning. Progress, I suppose."
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
"Hmm, average," he remarks, and it might be difficult to tell if that's a relief or a mild disappointment. "I suppose it is slightly below average, but many people are," Citan says, pulling a cloth and a bottle from within the bag. He spends a few moments sterilizing the thermometer.
"Indeed, though blood cells are shortlived, and you would need to use a donor which the recipient would not reject. ...Now, if you were to transplant the bone marrow, then you could have a complete change in your blood type! Of course, such a thing is not yet possible..."
Not on the surface, at least. Not quite yet.
"Speaking of Hyadeans, Miss Iverstead-Rey, I had been meaning to ask... does your book contain all that you know about the Hyadeans? Or are there things you have not yet set to paper?"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida thinks on that question a moment. "I never intended for it to be comprehensive," she says, carefully, "but I did feel that some more private details were best left from the record, for now. And one of the more public ones." Her lips tighten. "I feared that St. Centour would be too raw a wound to touch upon, even though its perpetrator is dead." Ida looks down at the floor a moment, as if studying a dial poking out of the pile of junk. "And it wasn't as though he didn't have other crimes to document."
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
Citan regards her for a long, long moment.
Then, he nods. "Yes... all that there is is not necessarily what must be known. ...Tell me of St. Centour. I had of course heard of the disappearance of its people, but I had not heard of what befell them." He pauses. "...However, if I am to grasp the meaning of your hesitation, then what happened to the citizens of St. Centour was at the hands of the Hyadeans. Is that correct?"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
"It is," Ida says. "Not long after the attack on Adlehyde, it activated a ley-working woven into the city's architecture, shielding it from the Hyadeans and other 'unclean entities'. As I understand it, the focal point was a Guardian Statue, which had long since been accepted by the local Church of Granas as the visage of a saint. Alhazred, the Photosphere's chief scientist, devised a means by which he could destroy the statue, and turn the townspeople into... war assets." Ida cannot suppress a shudder, nor can she suppress the disgust in her voice.
"He crafted... seeds, of a sort. A refinement of something he used during the War to destroy a research facility. His minions captured a few citizens who ventured beyond the barrier, and... implanted the seeds within them. Concealed within human flesh, they did not cause the barrier to reject their bearers. And once enough victims had been implanted--"
"They became monsters. They infected the other citizens. Only one woman survived the massacre. And what remained--I can't even call them 'Metal Beasts', because even Metal Beasts can look natural. These were... misshapen amalgams of human and Hyadean flesh." As Ida speaks, the flesh on the back of her hands--both hands--ripples and stiffens. "The sole mercy was that he never had the chance to unleash them. They died when the Photosphere fell. It was a mercy."
Ida's fingers twitch, and clench. "And now--now someone is doing the very same in Kasutho."
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
Citan... listens.
What else can he do but that?
"...I see," he says, when all is said and done, his arms by now folded over his chest, the thermometer left on the table. "Then, he merged Filgaian and Hyadean together, with the intent of..."
He falls silent, lifting a hand to rest against his chin, as if he were considering something more deeply. His gaze is distant, as if he were focusing on something else, in another location than where he now stands.
At length, he just shakes his head.
"The degree to which Hyadean physiology is adaptable is... truly astonishing," he remarks, with an expression that does not imply that he is at this time fascinated by this capacity of it. "I had thought that I had seen 'red' in the blood of those creatures. ...I, myself, had ended up there recently, and encountered several of them. I had wondered if perhaps..."
He unfolds his arms and reaches for his bag. "You do not think it was the same person, then?"
He fishes around in the bag's depths, considering a few tools before setting each of them aside. A battered stethoscope. A reflexes testing hammer. "...Do you have any particular physiological signs you have noted recently? I can think only of one other response to test which may be of use. ...Evaluating your pulse or heart or breathing is, I think, unlikely to tell us much of your underlying condition. Of course, I suspect if there have been, ah, intrusions from the graft, it is likely to be on too fine a level for these instruments," and here he gently whacks the side of the bag with the back of his hand, "to determine, no matter how useful they have been in a small county town!"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
"We have proof to the contrary," Ida says. She sees the change in Citan's demeanor, the way he drifts off ever-so-slightly. "The man who made them was one of the architects of the ruin of Krosse. We found... monitoring tags, etched with Symbols that were clearly his handiwork." Ida feels her chest tightening. "I don't know why he's turned his hand to this, but--"
Ida trails off, and oh-so-deliberately unclenches both her fists. She seems almost relieved to let the subject drop, though it's clear that her anger has merely submerged. "I'd like a much better idea of that, yes," Ida says. "But also..." There's a flicker of worry in her gaze as she meets Citan's eyes. "If... if there is a second mind within me, I must make contact with him. In as controlled a state as is managable." She seems aware of how ridiculous that sounds. But she is also sure that Yuna gave her some damn good advice on the matter, and she has to at least try.
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
"So... a Symbologist."
Which rules out a great many things, indeed.
"I take it you have some idea of the identity of the one behind this."
It is not a question, merely a statement of fact.
He gazes over at her, then, for the moment almost curious. "In that regard... if there is anything more than 'reaction' remaining," he says to her, "if there is indeed another mind to meet... that, I cannot help you with. Perhaps the Baskar may be better able to assist you. They have an appreciation for spiritual depth and self-contact that many faiths do not," he says, not without a wry smile. "I know something of their practices, though the academic approach is quite unfortunately unsufficient in this case!"
Not with the tools available here.
"There is one thing I would like to see. Miss Iverstead-Rey, if you please... I would like to test your reflexes. Specifically, I would like to compare that of your arms."
Which is what he will do, if she permits it. The contractions of the muscles should be involuntary in someone with a functional nervous system, but...
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida looks away. Ordinarily, she'd consider Cyre, but given the tone of their last meeting, she's hesitant to impose upon him. She remembers the hurt and anger in his eyes when he spoke of her newfound connection to Moor Gault. She can't blame him. "It's a possible lead," Ida says, "though, having experienced such a self-contact ritual, I'm uncertain it would provide the stability and control I need." It was equal parts comforting and terrifying, and wholly surreal. She's not sure that repeating the experience would be wise, given what's happened in the interim.
It occurs to her that she might not have a choice in the matter.
"Of course," Ida says. She holds out both arms, being careful to let them hang a little limply, so as to better remove the conscious factor. When Citan taps the left arm, the response is immediate, pronounced--the instant the mallet hits her skin, the arm twitches forwards far faster than average. There's even the slightest hint of resistance at the point of impact. Ida watches her own reflex, eyes wide with a mix of wonder and trepiditon.
The right arm, the one with the more extensive neuromuscular infiltration, is even faster. Ida's fingers graze Citan's shirt before she sees them doing so. The resistance to the hammer is even more noticeable.
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
"Well... the choice is yours," the doctor says, shaking his head. "I am at a loss to recommend anything else." Perhaps there are limits to what medical science on Filgaia can prescribe -- and a point where religion (and magic) must pick up the slack.
In any regard, once she consents, he conducts a simple test of the automatic reflexes. The speed of movement, the muscular resistance.
He had expected 'faster'. He had expected 'resistance'.
He had just also expected that on the other arm. Which, once he tests that one--
He lifts an eyebrow.
"Well, now..." he says, setting the implement down. "It appears you have clear evidence for your suspicions, Miss Iverstead-Rey," Citan tells her, folding again his arms over his chest. "Perhaps this might dissuade any feeling that this is 'merely in your mind'?"
<Pose Tracker> Ida Everstead-Rey has posed.
Ida closes both hands into fists, and then opens them. Both feel like they respond the same, but conscious control wasn't what Citan was measuring, was it? She takes a breath, focusing inwards to calm herself. "It certainly does," she says. "And now, it's a matter of deciding where to go from here." When she looks up at the doctor, her smile is small, but genuine. "Thank you, Doctor. For the tests, and for giving me the chance to unburden myself."
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
"You are quite welcome, Miss Iverstead-Rey," Citan answers simply, ducking his head as if in a bow. "It was pleasant to talk to you and set your mind at ease." He pauses a moment, then adds, "Perhaps someday I will have the opportunity to visit that city of yours," afterwards setting about the task of actually packing up his doctor's kit.
"Now then, I am certain you are tired of sitting around in these cramped quarters. What do you say we head up to the main deck for some fresh air? The Thames is ah... perhaps not precisely the most scenic of locations, but it still has much to recommend..."
Assuming, of course, that one is interest in looking at junk for sale. But so ever it goes.