Jump to content


PC Member
  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

Community Reputation


1 Follower

About 404Cygni

  • Rank

Recent Profile Visitors

452 profile views
  1. I catch the thrown objects out of the air, barely needing to think. A shirt and jeans. That's...Simple enough not to look horrendous, actually, I think. I mean, it's not like I ever actually paid much attention to fashion because, well, why learn to fly when you're a bear, but it does look good. Next come a pair of boots...Practical enough. I barely avoid facepalming. "Can't believe I forgot that. Do think you could find a messenger bag? I'm a doc, need somewhere to stash the basics and my satchel got mangled in the disaster. Also..." The moment of truth. Do I dare speak up or do I prefer caution? Eh, I'll be fine; They seem nice enough. "I have the same sort of alterations miss Yeva has, except mine push me towards the frontlines and melee combat. I'll need enough freedom of movement, hope it's not too much of an issue."
  2. Looking at her, I can't help but smile bitterly and sigh a bit. "...Look. it's a nice thing you're doing, and I appreciate it, but you shouldn't waste too much time on a charity case. You don't need to softball it. I don't...Look very good." Why hide the truth? I had some people compliment me,sure, but I'm fairly sure they either were hitting on me, just wanted to be nice, or outright set their standards too low. I know what I can see in the mirror. "My hair won't look good long, plus I can't really keep it that way in my line of work. I'm too tall. Too butch. I've got the jawline of a guy. When I try to look good, it's like a gorilla trying to wear a suit. You can make something that fits, sure,but not something that works. "
  3. I stare at the plate hesitantly. Should I force myself into eating? It might be wise, but... No. I can feel nausea and disgust rising at the very idea. Not that . "I'm good. You can have it, Gabby. I'm just going to walk a bit and clear my mind, and then to the fashion dictator it is I guess."
  4. On reflex, I pat Gabby's back and muss her hair affectionately before nodding at my fellow Frenchman. "...Thanks." It feels warm and fuzzy inside and honestly, it doesn't really suprise me. It has been a while since I last got any major physical contact. I miss Pa and Ma.And thinking of it, I realize chances are I never will. That...Hurts, honestly, but I need to focus on the here and now. Speaking of now... "You know you shouldn't stick too close to me. I still have my old clothes so I must stink something fierce..."
  5. I hadn't made the connection between that man begging for help and mister Zakharov. I had helped...Him? Then again, if I hadn't, who else would have? Listening to miss Dino and Gabby discussing, memories just...Flow. My voice feels raspy as i delve into moments I usually prefer not to remember. "...You want to know a secret, miss Dino? Our world...It's bitter and uncaring. From what...I've seen..." I can feel my voice hitch a bit as it becomes tougher to fully express what I mean. It's tough. Physically tough, like crossing an obstacle I never planned to. What am I doing, airing my life instead of enjoying the goddamn peace and quiet? "People live, and people die. There's nor order to it. No rightness. No justice but what we've built. Back in the sands, I've seen some good people blow up. Friends, civilians, children too. One second they're there, and the next, best not detail. And then, a few hours or days or weeks later, I happen to get to treat some bastard who laid explosives in the dunes the name of some insane ideal and caught a nasty case of bullet in the chest, all so they can be interrogated. Do you know how easy it would be to just slip? To 'miss' something, or to have the scalpel 'just cut wrong'? ...But you don't. Because you're a doctor and that wouldn't be right and the Oath is sacred. If I don't respect the Oath, what good am I?" Things have gotten a bit blurry. I might have dust in my eyes. My hand hurts, I might have slammed it, my memory's blurry too. "Sometimes, we feel like the wrong person survived. But life is life, so unless we want to become murderers all we can do is make due with what we have and hope for the best. I'm going for a walk, see you people later. Stay safe" My plate is still half full as i push it away and stand up. Here's to hope I'm not giving little Gabby the worst example.
  6. I tap on the table thoughtfully, giving the lady a look. "I...See. If there's no one else, I guess I'll to ask her later. " I can't help but mutter... "I swear if she so much as gets a dress close to me..." A little bit of extra thinking has me ponder. She's not too happy, that kid. "You know, I was wondering. You're catlike. You've got claws, so I'm guessing you're stuck in close range, right? Punching, kicking, clawing, all that jazz. So...You need freedom of movement to stay safe. Aren't they so very restricting, those clothes?" I smile and butter wouldn't melt in my mouth. A wink. Come on kid, that's the cue. Take it.
  7. Having managed to find a place where to leave things to be washed (and dumped my sheets there, before washing my hands three times) I kept looking for somewhere to get things but...No dice so far. Meaning I was stuck with...Those clothes for now. And that was people announcing dinner. Maybe I could just pass on that and... A horrifying noise, some sort of surprisingly loud groan, quickly told me that my stomach did not agree with that idea. When *was* the last time I ate, actually? ...Five, ten, twelve...Fifteen hours? Alright. New plan. Eat, then get new clothes and wash again. Finding my way into the mess hall, I quickly end up grabbed by someone tiny...That's the kid in our group. Brand new clothes, a part of my brain notes with a bit of envy. Others from our little group are joigning us. And it seems I'm the only one still reeking. Smiling at the tyke, I manage to speak up through my embarassment. "Hey there. So...Where did you get those clothes? I'm still wearing Eau des Egouts number 5 right now so anything fresh would be a progress here..."
  8. Some time passed by. All I could tell was that I got some good bit of shuteye, I felt mostly human again and- Oh dear lord I reek. Of course. The sewers. The current state of things is...Unacceptable! Filthy! Unhygienic! Hoping I didn't contamine the sheets to a point where they might have to be purged, I hastily got up and undid the bed, taking everything with me. Right. Simple plan. Step one, get new clothes; Step two, get new sheets; Step three, clean everything. With fire if I must. Also, apologize. Step four is to take another shower and purge myself from the smell. Stepping out of the dorm, I start looking for anyone local that might inform me on where to go.
  9. A lot of people might have very intricate plans once entering a base in the middle of the undead apocalypse. Check the fortifications, see how trustworthy people are, find some backup equipment, maybe a gun or some sort of reinforced clothes. Explore. Me? I'm a simple person, at least for now. I might have dozed off but my mind's still halfway off, I'm exhausted, my everything hurts and I feel like someone's tapdancing inside of my head. Overall, not my finest day, and that includes hangovers and post-work zombie state (who needs sci-fi? Give anyone two twelve hours shifts back-to-back and they'll make a very good imitation of the living dead). I just head to the women's showers, check three times because my eyes might be messing with me, take a long shower (medium boiling, as anyone civilized likes them) and find the nearest unoccupied bed. And then I just crash. It's like someone's found the off button. Sleep now, be civilized later.
  10. After an unscheduled but admittedly welcome nap, I stir to light and a total lack of stench in the end. It fills strangely invigorating. How is it that I got so used to the smell of illness and death, that lack of it would feel so abnormal? Most importantly, we're near people. Other people, survivors of the disaster! They seem to be doing pretty well, too! And..I'm getting carried by my own patient. Way to make a posiive impression, Agnes. We've got two people who already introduced themselves so I...Guess it's my turn? I pry myself from Karl's back, stand up and stretch discretely, shining a somewhat unsure smile. "Agnes Legrand. I'm a doc. Nothing else to add, really."
  11. Feeling Karl's hand in mine, I letpower well from within as I just know needs to be done and start feeling... A body, hurt and damaged. It's funny how immense it feels treating a body like that. Karl's heartbeat resonates in my ears, his erratic breath is like some loud background noise. I can feel everything and I feel my breath hitch a bit in sympathy; Oh Karl... I start with minor things. The little aches of daily life. Small muscular lesions from doing movements wrong or overexerting yourself. Not too many of those, looks like he mostly lived a peaceful, cushy life until recently. What is obviously my patient's infection wound is the next thing I notice, but I just know I can't treat it, and it breaks my heart because it looks painful but... Not only are scars overall out of my reach, at least for now, but I'm fairly sure infection scars are something else, something I likely never will be able to take care of. We are pariahs, and this is our mark. Next come the remains of...How many STDs? Just *how* was this man alive, apart from these things apparently deciding to wage some sort of biohazard civil war? I cleanse everything. Far away, in the distance, i can feel my own obdy starting to sweat heavily. I'm not done yet. Dopamine pathways are completely cluttered and I have to clean everything with caution. How long was this man just stuck, unable to feel any happiness? Some sort of drug withdrazwal is my best bet, but mostly it's none of my business, though I have to take note. For his sake and in the name of the example given to the little one going with us, this shet is *not* going to happen again. Everything's getting cold. Should I just call it a- Oh god. Those lungs. I absolutely cannot call it a day. My breath's getting a bit difficult, I feel woozy. But. My. Job. Isn't; Done. Lung damage takes more time to deal with. No wonder this man had so much trouble.It's all close to charcoal black, with some zones close to emphysema, and part of the lowest lobe of the right lung outright starting to collapse. In the end it's about good as new; I should take a look at the trachea... Is it me or is everything going black? As I get myself from the ground, I realize yes, I blacked out, if only for a second. I'm pretty close to Karl, and I should get up but...My arms feel so heavy right now. " 'm sorry...Couldn't do more right now. Can we book...Appointment...Later?" Okay, so one : my fancy not-zombie powers don't run on another source of energy as the rest of my body. Two, I'm completely out of juice. Three, the grounds seems really comfortable right now. Also my everything hurts. Let's hope I'll get better at patching people with time..
  12. I nodded. Really, my basics of Russian were solid enough to at least hold on a decent bit of conversation, even if it wasn't my best language, so learning Lasrian hadn't been too tough. I answered in lasrian in turn, probably heavily accented and clumsy but that wasn't my main preoccupation right now. "Right, we'll-" Then, a bit late, my ears registered the sound of someone falling to the ground. Cough, wheezig; I could almost feel myself defelte as I went from fight or flight to what I called 'doctor mode'. I had let a patent, visibly ill, on his own and untreat. Stupid, stupid, stupid! "I'm sorry, please give me a minute!" Turning my back to the batwoman, I faced the man who was getting help standing up. Thank god someone had more common sense than me...A few steps got me closer as I offered a hand and murmured. "Sir, I'm going to need your consent. If you're fine with me fixing you up just take my hand and squeeze it once. Alright? It's going to be fine. I'm so sorry I couldn't take care of you right away."
  • Create New...