Marmorea Aurum - Tender Heart [-1-]
Crack and carve; brought back a distant ache
Self-surgery | Metamorphosis | Magic and Machinery
Tossing covers aside – he finds himself staring at the ceiling
Palm drawn balled against his sight, rubbing with a tired ease as fingers press back and through unruly curls, his breath is brought to level, or, at least tried to. Exhales shake through his body while inhales are held steady, an effort to bring calm to a racing mind, to where rattles of dread claws through his throat and swallows. A rest back, quiet, he forces to move, gut brought to crunch as he forces himself to sit, head held well within his hands as exhausted tears trace the brim of his sight.
Fatigue. Hunger… a sorrow continues to sink as a recount is made of the blistering and the burns, of crawling through oxidizing dust for reprieve from a full body panic that sparks anxious nerves.
Hands yanking covers aside, he strains to look towards the opposing window. The view dusk darkened as the city lights grace beneath the habitat domes, where further beyond towers stand half lit as he watches towards the encompassing sky. Even still, a pit continues to scratch burrowing into his gut, hunger reminding himself to get out of bed - Warren's just not sure if he’s ready yet.
Annoyed. Tears are wiped away - he takes his time.
In the darkness of the condo he does eventually find his feet – large claws splaying against the floorboards as he stretches out from the side of the bed. A hand digs up beneath the furl of his bedhead – tangles curling in his fingers as he does as little as possible to set rogue strands from his sight. His movements brisk, Warren fishes into the side drawer, rolling a tie over his wrist before reaching back to control the untamed hair that grazes the rifts that line his spine. Rim lit in the idle darkness, hair pulled up into an exhausted bun, he still sits, held in thought as a bloom of energy checks down the rifts line his back, diverting to grace over his outer thighs as a tail of similar properties wisps beneath the knot tie of his shorts.
Flickers of irritation persist down the fibrous length as Warren makes his way from the bedroom and through the hallway lined with potted plants. Destination made, the kitchen, he scrounges for anything that would dissuade the hunger pains. He makes note to order up some items within the next few days as he remains in the darkness, only digging out a bottle from the fridge. Lit only by his own physical attributes and the soft rebounded lights, he leans on the island that separates kitchen from central room, taking a final gulp of a shake slurry he’s not a fan of. Too much of this, too little of that, some minor adjustment he knows that’ll be forgotten down the line. He coughs; wiping what remains on his lips before setting it in the cluttered sink… he can do that later.
Another thing put aside.
In the corner, a dark shape breathes.
As he leans up against the kitchen island, Warren takes a moment to scramble through his memory; for where he last set down the collaboration of research notes – the primary preoccupation of his extensive free time. Not in the bedroom, no; neither the kitchen; hand pressed to temple, his hazy mind finally recalls catching sight of it on the couch, just out of his view.
Claws clicking against the tile floor, muffled by the rug material, he picks up the device. Hope is held reserved that it still has enough power for the remaining night.
The shape in the corner shimmers with the light that glows from his spine, rebounding off the chitin surface an illumination of the worn-copper surface tone as the room continues sat entombed in darkness. Root structures crawl along the walls, the ceiling, obscured as only distant atmospheric blue lights the central space as Warren rounds to a side room. A warm orange glow emerges from the open door, only just briefly as he eventually returns to the condo’s center space, pulling aside a throw once draped over the couch.
Pulling it around himself, he settles between the chrysalis and the plant shelves that brim the window pane.
“So,” huffs as he lies back against the wall, blanket ends lying over arms. “I’m still stuck on formulating the right exposure amount.” Warren makes himself comfortable, wrapped up in the two-tone fabric as the tablet dances between his palms. “Managed to narrow down what’s needed to cultivate the right cretae strand studs that can withstand the transplant and behave mutuality. Won’t overgrow the host by the calculations,” he picks at the screen, head falling lax against the shell.
“Will only feed off trace amounts of energy,” he speaks softly, listening to the softest whisper of an alchemical heartbeat. “So, I can last a while with daily use… problem is charging.” The beat is steady, resounding within the shell and rolls through him, diverting his thoughts away to an easing calm.
“I’ll try to get around to checking the alchemia levels on the test strand – figure out the best way to energize them when they’re tethered… it’s been a while,” he grunts – partial with annoyance. “Got another month before they need me on the move – a sub-ground settlement is having repeating dynam incursions. Puts a strain on the security forces, safety risks - lower levels are being cordoned off. They’re hoping you’re regenerated by then...” He leans an elbow against the chrysalis shell, head leaning on knuckles as he parse through the backlog of notes. Attention sluggish as fatigue still traces his thoughts.
“Hope I can get in a trial run before then,” his mouth parts, thumb scrolling. “The lower levels are such a labyrinth… we might be there a few months clearing things out.” He makes a glance to the time – still way too early for him to be awake. A hand runs through his hair, a sigh, a curiosity as he still feels worn despite the summation of hours he’s overslept.
“I should probably check my levels,” sighs as his vents billow, a hand held on jaw. He can’t remember the last time he’s read his alchemia ratio… was it last week? Last month?
Too exhausted to keep picking at his brain, he turns the tablet off – setting it aside a ceramic pot set on a shelf just barely out of his reach. “I’ll worry about it later,” exhales, bundling himself up against the chrysalis’ shell. Legs curling up beneath the heave of the blanket throw, he squeezes himself into the space – where the chrysalis shifts to make additional room. His arms curl in the faint of a reach, exhausted. Eventual to fall into blissful sleep as the sigh of a stone heart beats beneath the shell.
Pulling a leather strap tight, he hooks the tooth of the buckle with one hand as his teeth hold it taut.
Sat on the couch he lets his hand flex to fist.
Watching down to the whisper of his veins and the gentle shift of dermal fibrous muscles just beneath the surface layers of his skin, he reclines. Pulling the buckle once more, he double checks the buck leather that secures around his extended biceps, eroded by years of wear as the sigil sits buffed across the tightened strip. Beneath there's a gentle shift of his skin closest to his wrist - where his licorice black muscles breathes alongside the white energy locked beneath the imbued leather strip. Warren’s attention adverts, leaning forth on a crouched knee to items carefully set.
His ankle bumps the trash bin aside, shifting as he blocks the view of the platter that rests just short out of reach on a stool. Its contents, a medical kit; bared and prepared to wrap his arm with gauze as a Ratio Reader is set to side, the replaceable blade covered by a bright cap as the kit holds its replacements. A part of him sits idle and nervous, double checking his research driven assumptions as a cultivated bundle of cretae strands writhe on an open platter, carefully isolated as the sprout never wavers further than the platter edge. Close by, a razor lies between a packed alcohol swab, set beside a prod and clamp that would make it easier for the tether to find his nerves.
His leg continues to bounce.
Taking another scroll through the notes, he makes one final read. To glance towards the syringe capped off beside the other medical instruments already leveled out – he’s already checked thrice the mixture was right.
Warren sets down the tablet, upside down.
Sitting up, letting sight ease shut. He levels his breath.
Picking up the ratio reader, he uncaps the grooved blade.
While his left arm has not yet become unsettling numb, he leans against it. Making a small prick in the cretae sprout with the groove end, he tips it away to allow the clear fluid to flow along the metal towards the sensor end. Not too long, waiting until it trails down half before taking it fully away and letting the cerebrotic fluid bead against the plate. Cap back in place, angling it near vertical, Warren watches as the fluid slides down into the sensor edge to read the alchemia ratio.
“576,” he mumbles, scrawling it down on a piece of paper to the side.
“Now,” biting his lip, he looks to the syringe. Remembering the sprout cannot directly draw from the injection’s content – a piece of information still out of place. How effective it can charge while attached to a host system; notes refer only to his previous trials made on other foliage matter, on a slab of cultivated flesh. Other researchers still want to run their own trials on active subjects before they deem it to be sufficiently ‘safe’ to use as an implant.
Warren is not as cautious and picks up the razorblade.
Flicking his nerve numb arm, the impact barely registers as a furl of white energy blooms just beneath his skin, contained within his limb as he rests wrist on his knee. And slowly, patiently, he draws his forearm to slip forth the tether seam, dividing his skin as the sluggish and numb coil draw from where they center amongst his muscle mass. Pulling them to wrap over, he holds the end firm in his palm. Exposing the slicken membrane that lies just beneath and over licorice black muscle. He makes the incision clean, idly watching as he draws the sharp blade down a short length as the tethers try and lash in a lazy reaction.
Latex white blood draws as he pulls away with a scientific stare; fumes of heat vent from within him as the white is padded away, thumb drawing gauze along the sliming cut before throwing the piece into a bin at his heel.
Pulling his shirt into his teeth. He looks to the cretae sprout.
Picking up the clamps, his blue sight turns to the beading of his white blood over dark muscles where the slightest wisps of fading energy seeps from within. It draws him to pause… and sets the clamps aside, picking back to the Ratio Reader and ejects the blade to the stool to properly dispose of later.
As easily as he’s able, he pops on another.
Holding the bladed end near the idle seep of his latex white blood, a slight pressure is more than enough to give him the amount he needs for the reading. Capping the grooved blade and tilting it back, he ignores the idle drip, and waits for the reading.
1577 - Sufficiently low.
“Shit,” he groans. Used to being around 5600; well below his healthy limit. Written down, he dumps the capped blade just the same.
Turning back to the task at hand, he presses the ends of the clamps at the folds of his skin, beneath the protective layers that separate his dermal skin from the manipulative tissue and muscle membrane. There is the occasional flinch of his lip, hand cradling the end of the open clamps as he lies back, screwing the muscles to remain visible even as the tethers draw around the metal as latex blood still oozes. Drawing down to settle the defensive attributes, letting the energy waver back into his muscles beyond the creamy hues. Warren relaxes, picking the cretae sprout from the platter gentle before letting it set in the open crest of his arm.
Gentle, guiding, he coaxes the ends of the enigmatic specimen into his muscle structure with the prod, easing it towards to connect with his nerves as his own muscles shift to accommodate it. Even as it draws a winch, lip flinching as he forces the hem of his shirt back between his teeth, Warren watches the small sprout dig between his flesh, slowly becoming to adhere to his nerves.
A surge of muscle white flows beneath his skin as the cretae tethers slowly begin to wind, pieces slowly wrapping to keep itself in place as his hand wobbles and sway. Prod set beneath were the end pervades into his muscles, keeping it from completely sealing into him, he undoes the strap around his arm.
“Okay,” he sighs, looking towards the syringe.
Looking to the area just to the side of the where the cretae spout lies, he levels his breath. Undoing the cap, letting his arm cradle to his lap, he makes another long steady breath. And, mentally, hopes he’s right.
A long, just as steady exhale, and he presses it down muscle deep – .3ccs, should just be enough to energize the implant as it sits downstream of the injection. Syringe set aside, cap back on, he rests.
Fingers scratch as the back of his neck, breathing sighs through the vents that line his throat and beneath his shirt.
Prevalent anxiety – to which he dismisses.
Removing the prod, removing the clamps, he sets them aside as his hand cradles the cretae sprout against his stomach. Hand back on the tablet, he pieces through the research one more time to steady his thoughts – two hours, that’s all it should take to let the sprout absorb the chemical mixture. He’ll check the levels again then – both his and the sprout’s to be absolute.
It won’t be wholly conclusive, one individual attempt.
Looking down to it, where the implant sprout has entangled itself with his muscles and nerves. He thinks to remove the dark banding that course from his shoulder down this middle finger.
There’s a pigment dotting, and colors mottle, fade, until a portion of it matches his primary tone. Beyond where the sprout has attached itself to his body.
“At least that works,” Warren sigh, resting his head against the couch
He needs to be careful as he pries the cretae sprout from its place, edging it from his body with a disruptor stone. Splitting the alchemical adhesion until it leaves a cleared wound, letting the candidate implant rest isolated on a platter.
An hour later, he pricks it once again. A reading of 657; his own remains at 1577.
He’s relieved.
Exhausted, he fumbles with the keys
Shouldering the door open, back pressing it shut, and his human shifted appearance begins to ease as he exhales. A hand wraps around the charm hung from his neck, and his throat vents breath back into existence, billowing a heave of steam as his eyes slip shut. Another day spent checking the vast node network beneath the city-state; he acts haphazard as he removes the charm that obscures his bonespurs into ears, the heavy scar along his mouth, the markings that draw along his sight and body. Setting it down, charm laid far upon the island countertop, his hip hitches upon it – he catches sight of the towels, still in their place.
And across, the chrysalis still looms. Roots branching a quiet outline.
Breathing a full-body sigh; Warren pulls off the shoes that shift his legs into planted boots, claws splaying upon the tile in a stretch. Jacket pulled off, tossing his shirt aside, he drops onto the couch with another fatigue riddled exhale, head coming to rest at the top as his limbs stretch – aching from the flare of his bonespurs to the flex of his three-toed feet.
Taking a moment of meditation – leveling his breath – the vents that line his body wisp with spent energy, dazzling around him as an expel of heated steam. Sight resting, he pulls a hand through his untamed hair and back through the tie that has kept it somewhat contained. “Fuck,” is all that grunts, his exhale full-bodied before glancing to the tablet left upon the stool.
‘Guess I should respond,’ floats an exhausted thought.
Not much into the prospect of answering inquiries, he moves forth to a sit, picking it from the surface to at least glance through for later acknowledgement. Warren kicks himself back upon the couch's sectional corner, making himself comfortable as legs curl against the cushioned rest, shoulders resting upon a thrown blanket and a pillow he pulls over with bare hips shifted aside. He flips through the scroll – a few dozen wait for response in the inbox – a week late to answering most.
Itching at his nape, Warren opens the oldest first.
Hours coax into the eve of dusk – it draws the room quiet and dark as beyond the atmospheric domes hold light pollution contained. Where beneath the social rifts remain alight, a bustle with foot-traffic and the slightest sigh of public transports as air remains calm beneath the beams, leaving a silent stare out into the hostile climate of mars – a stinging cold that only bares the light from surface-towers and the distant twinkle of far-flung stations. Within the landscape cradle that holds the condos silent, unassuming paired block sit stacked along the cliff-side embankment, overlooking the canyon gap.
Ever so still; the only movement made by the conditioner unit that breathes prefiltered air into the building, a gentle brush exhale that blows echoes to a gentle, monotonous quiver. Flora sits aglow through their own volitions along the room edge, light outlined by the deep dark branches that still reach from the chrysalis – and it quivers again with breath.
Air exhalation; a resurge of energy flows beneath the condominium walls – electricity and silent streams of maintenance alchemia, siphoned through the grip of the firm shell branches.
They curdle – turning hard and vacant as they split from the walls.
Fast asleep, Warren doesn’t so much as stir as the chrysalis begins to split; cracking along the hemline creases that line the surface face. Moist, the shell begins a generous crack – sounds shuttered away from external investigation as a barrier remains set in place – begot to the grotesque tears of the chitin shell from illuminous flesh. Pieces falter to ill sating crackles on the tile floor, knocked aside as sickle legs break free of the metamorphosis slime; crushing them underfoot as spindly legs tow them out of the chrysalis shell. Slim limbs steady the shape as it leans forth, legs chattering amongst themselves as faint respiration breathes beneath the slicken shell
Copper-tone horns scrape the air as they breathe a full, satisfying breath - inhaling deep as their body expands along the full length. And heaves themselves to stand as the exhale roams through their cavernous shell, the underside completely splits, tendrils gold dividing along the margins of slicken innards. And the spit of steely soft shell reflects the low light, fur both copper and creamy white spittle with slick metamorphosis matter.
Golden point sight surveys the room – catching visage of the idle form unstirred by the chatter of chitin limbs. The tablet long abandoned to the floor, a blanket pulled over the ossisgari’s form as the shape begins to circle the room – stretching amongst the wooden floor and between the flora forms as their form breathes. Beginning to alter their shape to condense, retracting chitin legs from clicking against the tile as spindly arms are pulled into shape.
Pulling with a simple flex, a towel is taken.
Clawed grips hold the towels tight as the chimera pulls himself together, condensing the unsung centipede form down into something far more manageable – body shifting from many legs to two – standing biped within the kitchen as remnant slime is brushed from their form; from over the open sleeves in the scaled forearms, the shattering flex of spinal stones that are not gentle in the slice, to an unceremonious transition of skin scale to inner fur laden thighs - they clear themself of the regenerative fluids.
Still nude, still bringing self to comfortable form as they check to be sure everything is in needed operation. From the mimicry of their organs to their own sentimental face as braids replace the graze of segmented horns.
Just as it all once was – Malaphin checks in the mirror of the bathroom, ridding the towels to the sink, splashing water to face as claws shift to tattooed palms. They run over the two-toned braids with a softened sigh, golden sight returning to the reflection of soft toned skin. A split marks at the center of their chest – skin turning chitin as it unfolds to golden innards where a philosopher stone heart beats.
One final check – and it all shutters back beneath warm tone skin, tattoo wrapping arms in a semblance of the soft chitin that it returns to. A claw clicks the bathroom light off.
Half form shifted, soft skinned half-pecs up – the chimera leans a knee against the couch, coming to a sit as claws divide through hair held with dried sweat. Running through once, brushing a tussle from sleeping features – a smile softens as the ossisgari begins to rouse, shifting under the tender stroke of claws.
Tired eyes squint through a confused glance, a banded palm folding itself from beneath body and blanket to pull through hair. He shifts, slowly folding himself over to lie toward Malaphin. “There you are - what took you so long,” heaves through tired lungs, knuckles forced under body to lift towards a lean, pushing himself to a partial sit as a grin disrupts the chimera’s quiet gaze.
Arms wrap themselves around their center, pulling them closer as claws divide hair from tired face once more – uncovering the nasty scar that exposes dark gums through a torn cheek. “Could’ve taken longer,” whispers, melting into a kiss, thumb resting at the scar, “is this…?”
Lungs surged with heat – fighting to stay alight as a chill runs throat raw.
“Yeah,” Warren shuffles himself into a lean, their hips set aside the other, sat opposite. “Let’s… not talk about it,” still exhausted – he rubs his sight, brushing aside the welt of tears. “There’s a lot to catching up to do…” the drake’s voice stretches to a yawn, resting against the chimera as he moves again to lie head in lap.
With a gentle nod Malaphin says no more as their claws pull through Warren’s hair, observant as the blue sight lapses closed… tinted with tears before turning himself aside, face pressing into stomach as an arm pulls around. They cradle his head within their daunting claws, comforting as Warren comes to rest at their side. One remains in the curls, turned finger blunt as they stroke against scalp; the other brushes along the glowing spinal rifts, coaxing gentle comfort as quietly breathing ricochets, shaking the ossisgari in the quiet space.
Carefully, the blanket is pulled back over by claws lying it to set over – Warren’s feet curl as he finds gentle solace, an arm held against the stony plates that lie on the opposing side – relief treading over sight and cheeks.
Hand running up and through his hair, Warren leans up against the couch. Having already wait an hour for the advisor’s office to open – he’s impatient, staring up at the remains of the chimera’s chrysalis as he continues to be set on hold. “What’re we going to do with it?” He parses to Malaphin; the chimera lounging just out of sight on the couch below.
“Just the same as last time,” rumbles through their body, shifting their shape to recompress held open folds as they move to sit. Limbs linger in a stretch as they assume their form back into focus, “tear it up, and use it for compost. It’s not charged anymore, drew the last of it out while I was coming to.” The remnants of the chrysalis are dry – dark around the tracing edges as it looms over the flora blooms that sit brilliant beneath the overhang.
His stare is half assumed as he stares at the crusted edges and where the mess of metamorphosis sap is left uncleaned. One of the reasons he wanted tile floors, after all. The other side of the call clicks. “Hey, this is Warren – security code A-5-92-771. I was calling to see if I could get a replacement today… for the cretae maintenance checks, yeah.” He settles down on the couch diagonal of the chimera, kicking back as his clawed legs crossed on the short table. “Mhm, Malik’s awake, and they need caught up before the long-haul.” He’s got less than two weeks; fingers running through his hair, listening to the current advisor on call.
“I can check on strand node s59-71’s stability, but that’ll be it. That’s the only one I’m worried about,” his hand drops down to his neck, set there as he listens to the assignment office. A part torn back to the events that led to the overhead dome’s initial collapse that made the complication in the first place – he can only help it adjust so much from where it sits. “If you have them check the others, I can head down later to help with its stability.” A pause, picking up his tablet; “they have a burner phone, right, what’s their number so I can call them later?” He scrawls it down into the device as he listens to it, reading back as a simple confirmation, “thanks, I’ll call around noon,” and, the call done, sets his current phone aside.
Lying back, he releases a heavy sigh.
A pause hangs in the silence, held until Warren begins to pull himself to his feet.
Fetching something to eat, he collapses himself at the chimera’s side, “so,” he blows an exhale. Part of him piecing through how to process past events, how to handle in sensitive wording that won’t fracture his stressed restraint. Once held only by silence, torn open just like the chrysalis shell that sits on the other side of the room… in need to be broken down and fully processed. “Think we’ll need a dispel for the micro-hooks? To get it off the ceiling,” he motions with one hand, taking another bite of the protein bar.
Malaphin shrugs, form shifted to fit the pants as their torso remains smooth skin – arms still a wrapping of soft chitin folds as a transition makes over their throat, braided head resting back against the couch. “I can unweave them as we take it down – doubt you want a huge pile all at once,” chuckles, leaning aside. “We’ll figure something out, Divi,” staring at it, a moment pauses, “running cretae maintenance now, huh?”
A slight smirk graces his scarred smile, swallowing a bite. “Specialist - There’s other Handlers to take the brunt, so I’m more on standby,” Warren shrugs, “so, it’s taken my time since what happened – gave me time to work on that project.” He pops the last bite into his mouth, chewing as he picks up the tablet and scrolls back through the programs.
“The ones with the cretaes?”
Warren nods. “Yeah, cretae implants – they’ve since been called ‘Jacob's Organ’, and it’s a shared project now; there’s a facility here and two on earth that are trialing their long-term functionality. Any advancements get reported back to me, but Monere’s mainly funding it – they’re close to running safety trials now.” Sitting back, he passes the tablet that holds the recent scrawl of notes. “They want to run a few more trial runs on the structure binding; neurologic decoding and encoding still remains the primary problem for now, and the only resolution so far has been to keep them as pairs.”
Resting back, the chimera looks through the vast array of data; over how the alchemia signal tracks, over the vast sum of trial paperwork. How the enigmatic sprouts have been kept as bonsais, how the central stalk is shredded down to their bare components to adapt to sensory inlay that allow them to interconnect with nervous systems to an utmost immaculate degree. Nanomechanical connections; the electronic components in their suspension casings, catalogs of adapting micro-charms for repeated use – far too much more than they can read right now, setting it face down as they make a glance to the side room; they can feel energy continue to freely ebb.
Concern crossing face, there lies a tense atmosphere as they look to the ossisgari in the silence between them; attention turned to the wound that follows Warren’s mid forearms. A held pause, they move to lean on a knee, making a simple gesture towards the injury. “That from one of the trials…?”
He takes quick notice of what the chimera means, rubbing his forearm with reassurance. “Yeah, last week gave one of mine a trial run… I was able to shift my appearance with it.” A small, embittered laugh laced nervous.
Features held crossed on the chimera’s features, they shift to sit closer, exhaling as they come to sit at Warren’s side – a hand reaches out for the arm.
Warren offers it; held gently as the other holds over the blemishing scar.
Their sights lock. “What happened after the dome collapsed…?”
Haptic senses driven into a panic – tearing of a hook from face and leaving his mouth scarred.
Taking a moment to breathe deep, Warren lets his breathing level. “They took me – and your remains – to a hospice center. Your body broke apart and crumbled far before your seed was able to find plant. Had to carve out the philosopher stone to keep you safe… they say the temperature spike read up to 140,” Celsius. His smile breaks down, “most of the civilians got to safety before the dome completely collapsed… but they’re still in the process of clearing the debris before they set up a new dome.” His voice reigns soft, left with mild restraint as he watches the wound heal in full. Carefully pulling it back, he checks his limb – muscles flexing as they so normally would if he hadn’t carved himself open.
“How much longer do you think it’ll take?” Malaphin doesn’t remove their hands, letting them settle to hip and back – a reassurance.
“They think it might be another five months until they can start constructing the dome’s rib system – I’ve been monitoring the cretae system beneath it and expelling some of the built-up trauma in the nodes. S59-71 is the closest to the rim, it’s been catching the occupational worker stress.” Resting himself against Malaphin, Warren sighs. “I don’t, really want to talk about it, okay?”
An arm wraps around, pulling them together as temples press. “That’s fine, Divi,” hand rubbing over arm, it grips with assurance. “What ideas did you have with the cretae implant? And what type of assignment have they cooked up for us.”
Warren leans into it, resting on the shapeshifting shoulder as it becomes bare skin. “There’s trouble in Nuqtat Mari; the local Aberrant handlers are having trouble keeping rogues at bay and they need help setting everything straight. And out of everyone here, we’re technically available – well, it just would’ve been me if I hadn’t asked them to delay it by a few weeks.”
“What type of problem do they have?”
“Lodestone Dynam, mostly. Nuqtat Mari is an industrial port; mining, factory work, processing, it’s the region hub… it’s cramped, and they’ve clamped down on any alchemia entering and leaving the ravines. The grimoire there have a hard time wrangling them – even the ones piloting PIDS.”
Quietly, fingers begin to play in hair, “ah, so they want us to clean up their messes?” Warren leans into the shifting claws. “Guessing with the PIDs it’s a few of them – has it been going on for a while?”
“Just about a month last time I checked in, so by now would almost make it two. They can’t assure me how long we’ll be there – just that we’re going to be boarding in public.” Throat vents sigh as he breathes deep, “was hoping to test run the implants through then – try them out myself while I can. If I can’t cloak my appearance, then we can always make charms. Anything alchemically charged is being seized.”
“Most the population human?”
Warren nods, “about 89 percent.”
Malaphin relieves a sigh, head leaning onto the ossisgari’s. “Great.” A concern for being hunted down.
Letting his sight linger closed, Warren lets himself breath throughout his vents – through his entire body as soft steam wisps from the rib-bound vents and through the ends of his bonespurs. “So, guessing you’re in then.” The hand once in his hair moves to his side.
Sinking into the couch with a leveling breath, Malaphin nods. “Let me read through what you’ve got; can’t troubleshoot any issues we come across if I don’t know anything about the implants.” And their breath rolls through their body, pressing a soft kiss to cheek. “Might as well check on that node, then we can talk about it, alright? Can’t let you test them alone,” and a smile presses.
Warren returns the gesture, a hand guiding Malaphin’s head aside for the kiss. “Alright; all the information is on my account, fish through for whatever you wish.” Their hands linger as Warren moves to stand, “the sprouts are in the arboretum if you want to run physical checks.” Picking up the tablet, he archives his replacement’s number to his phone, “take care of the plants for me.” A joking smirk, a glance to the hanging chrysalis shell.
Malaphin’s hand follows Warren’s hip, “I’ll figure something out,” and receives the tablet with the same hand.
It’s a handful of hours before Warren finally returns, tossing his jacket aside.
Called – alerted of the growing strain, taken a detour to the head offices for an in-person briefing of the situation as he didn’t have his tablet. Been fast-tracked to leave tomorrow. Something about a derailment, energy being drained from lower quadrants. To the statements, Warren keeps brief, lax as he settles down on the couch and drops his phone on a cushion. Will need to be dropped off at the regional office – it’s all the same routine.
Claws dance over his bared skin – over shoulders as their conversation is light as hair is brushed aside.
A confirmation; an admission of the items to be set and placed. As far as the research has been able to show… only one area can take the entire nerve load.
The pairing of sprouts set aside – both half sat on the couch.
Brushing hair aside, Warren bares his nape as a hair tie keeps the curls cleared from his neck where a scalpel finds place.
Holding pressure against neck; his shoulders roll as they depart the train platform.
Relieving a severing grunt as he rolls his neck, Warren keeps a brisk pace aside the chimera as they hold their bag over one shoulder, strides shared as they make their way through the gate. Features remain altered as they pass through the barrier that hums above the tunnel, their pace remains straight as heavy jackets save them from the dampening chill that rolls through the immaculate architecture. With appearances shifted down, condensed and blatant humanoid – the implant holds steady in the dense cold that would break a well simpler charm, both ignoring the alarm signage that blares overhead as they make their way through to the security checkpoint.
[ 5 dead, 36 wounded ] beads a headline within the broadcast system boards, holding the stark reminder of items for confiscation. Anything that so much as to look like it has any magical value; superficial, sentimental, or otherwise are to be taken, it scrolls. Repeating as they wait among the dwindling travelers as nano-charged machinery flares around them – surveying the crowds beneath a hardened shell. It only gets a courteous glance by them as they wait for their turn through the security gauntlet.
Their clothing stuffed baggage is handed away first as they linger calm, patient as their bag makes it through a series of sensors.
An officer waves them through; a slight remark glanced towards Warren as he still holds his neck – still slightly drowsy.
“Cramp,” he explains, “slept on the way here.”
The intimidation of visor helmets doesn’t dissuade him – held calm as he walks through the range of sensors.
A wave brings him through; picking up their bag as the chimera makes it through after.
Both clearing the gauntlet.
‘Hate those things,’ the chimera bounces through the connection as they lean against a pillar, adjusting the laces of their boots. Thoughts slipping to neurologic static.
‘What, you don’t like the radiation buzz?’ Warren smiles, pressing two fingers where the implant has adhered itself to the crest of his spine. Folding through the newly issued phone, he picks through the directions down into the ravine settlement; for the meeting place to retrieve their gear and for their home for the next three months or however long it takes to track down the rogue aberrants. Impartial to the chimera’s streaming thoughts.
‘The ones in Melas aren’t that strong,’ Malaphin’s body sighs, forcing themself up to take a glance at Warren’s phone – openly shared as the ossisgari looks over the directory that looms before them. “Vertical transports, huh?” queries as they reach around – – ‘here’ – – Malaphin adjusts the digital map as Warren offers it over, held still as their thoughts stream into a sharing blur. Directions hold themselves beneath, flickered upwards via thumb scroll – – ‘want to check in before meeting them’, Warren tilts over – – ‘yeah’ – – Making a glance to the news report. Still in the process of clearing the debris. ‘Think it could be a cluster? Knocking over that kind of train isn’t something a single aberrant can do alone.’ – – ‘yeah,’ interrupts further thought as Malaphin pieces through the information in their sharing attention, pulling themself away; if not just to give them space to converse as Warren’s stature grows firm
“Sorry,” reassures as a hand lingers to waist, wafting around to depart until a hand grips wrist.
“It’s okay,” lifts a smile. Fingers shifting to a meeting grip.
Making their way towards the tram that would so lead them down into the fissure ravine, a transposed sight lingers above and below, holograms displaying the city lights around the platform walkway. A view cast by nano-tech screens that frames the deep darkness of the low industrial levels; far safer than Melas’ dome display as meters of metal barricade between the building innards and the open maw of the fissure – a billboard states as a scale model of Nuqtat Mari sits in the open visitor center between shops and connecting avenues. Other rails to other connections and such, both wandering pass to the shuttle station as they walk hand in hand.
‘An electrical dynam cluster… fuck,’ streams as they find rest within the dense shuttle, their attention partial as they remain aware of their surroundings as a departure reminder flares overhead. ‘And if they’ve been feeding all this time, it’s going to be difficult.’ Malaphin’s arm finds rest around Warren’s waist.
Sat side to side, Warren rests his head on the chimera’s shoulders as he scrolls through the phone – a hand held at his neck. “Hope it settles down,” he auditory processes, a small grunt shifts, ‘this thing is a literal pain in the neck,’ – – a look casts over, ‘you wanted to – ’ their thoughts entwine until Malaphin draws theirs silent – – ‘if they’ve been overturning security PIDS; there’s gotta be at least one tonnage drone. Sucking up and causing the reoccurring blackouts, knocking over a train sounds just like one would do to get a fresh drain.’
‘You wanted to try them,’ the chimera gently jabs, housing Warren close with reassurance. ‘I can try and settle it once we make it to the hotel.’ They heave their bags into his lap, head resting atop Warren’s.
[ Nuqtat Mari Shuttle leaving hub upper station ] the broadcast system announces overhead, repeating thrice into the primary regional dialects.
Thoughts once fissured blank, Warren sighs, shuffling to make himself comfortable against Malaphin. ‘It’s worth a try,’ his sight draws closed, ‘the registrant will be waiting for us in a café not far from the block.’
‘Rest up after getting the gear and a bite to eat?’ – ‘Sure, but I want to allocate the gear first. Don’t want to get stuck in a rush, going in blind if we get a call tonight.’
A hand slips up beneath spine, rising over the jacket back as Malaphin cradles Warren’s head close, fingers curling up into the loosely tied hair. ‘That’s fine by me,’ courses a thought between, ‘you deserve proper rest.’
There’s a clunking rustle as the ‘luggage’ drops onto the room’s single bed, heavy with less bulk as their own bag is chucked aside onto a chair.
Huffing a sigh, landing down beside the given bag Warren peels open the zipper, yanking it down the entire length where beneath a bright blanket lies over the stowed equipment – divided into two more separate bags. Secondary carries, zippers laid beneath as he pulls the blanket aside and one of them upon his lap as he hitches his sitting posture; a leg knelt aside as he can hear the chimera outside of his light of sight. Checking the room for the slight of hidden cameras, making secondary scans for the possibility of wire-taps through alchemical pulsations as clawed palms press at hard surfaces.
‘We’re in the clear,’ corresponds through their shared thoughts – and Warren presses at the back of his neck, against the small scarred lump that marks the cretae implant’s location.
It breathes through his body as bonespurs replace rounded ears, his markings returning across his sight and down his arms as he picks into the colorful layaway bag – pulling out a sharing of small arms, pistols sat unloaded, safety snapped into place by plastic ties, their numerals acid washed and scrubbed by alchemical methods as the ammo is safely held contained in own separate cases. Around the rim he finds the thigh holsters, the belts to hold them securely against their chests as he checks the short paper list – three calibers, five arms in total with their own alchemical reconnaissance if they ever got lost in a scuffle.
Shedding himself of the jacket, the ossisgari breathes a sigh as the vents that line his ribs breathe into full. Warren’s spine blooms with energy as he shuffles to sit, a half-recline as he sorts through the duffle’s contents. Primary granted with firearms, there still sits a pairing of short blades, but are overrun by the blessed bullets, the hollow points they can funnel powder into with a small press; bullets densely normal to fit the specific targets they may need to arm themselves against as he feels the bed shift beneath him.
Pulling an arm up Warren brushes his hair aside, granting Malaphin access to his neck. “Hope we won’t need to use the blessed ones,” he exhales, stretching out his neck as a hand holds to the base of his jaw, cradling it as another puts pressure to his neck. “They always fucking burn me,” grunts as pain begins to bleed through his skin; a gentle calm as the claws knead against him – coaxing the implant beneath his skin and mending muscle aches.
“That better?”
Warren nods, careful as he shifts beneath the hands… that is until he drops down beneath the chimera, holding a hand to one cheek with a smile. “Has been going rather well – the Jacobs Organs I mean. Getting a cramp was the least I was expecting; they kept saying it wasn’t safe enough to trial yet.”
Brushing hair aside, Malaphin presses down a kiss. “You got a natural immunity to them, that’s probably why,” smirks.
“Yeah,” breathes, “you’re right,” Warren exhales, moving back to pick through the secondary bag of equipment as he rests on the chimera’s thigh. “They got us some alchemy spice for the transfers, think it’ll be enough for medium and large transfers?” He offers the contents over to the chimera, a transparent box holding the small containers and a mixture of capped vials.
Malaphin unlatches the top, parsing through the variety of mixtures and rolled sigil papers – more than plenty for the assumed amount in the dynam cluster. “How far is the containment cell from here?” His features sit pursed, amidst calculations as they weigh out the variety at their disposal.
“Five kilometers give or take,” Warren pulls out the fabric packaging of charm rods – most useful for vixtueri cloaks. He sets them aside. “Since most of the incidents have happened in the lowest level, will need to start fishing around down there for leads. Juliava has some connections that can get us down there no problem.” Formerly offered opportunities, a general tour of the maintenance sub structure and where the PIDS travel the perimeter of the untapped and entangling cretae branch systems. “I’ll have to remember to ask her next time we talk.”
The chimera sets the box of materials back into the bag as Warren looks through the copies of the security reports, a hand fiddling with the bag of charm rods in idle thought. “Want me to give the block a walk around? Make a clean sweep of the area in case anything goes to shit?”
There’s a pause, and Warren lets himself lax back. ‘I can do it,’ charms between them, daunting a test of contact as mild thoughts finally snap out of connection as he sits back. “Want to see the distance before the communication part of it breaks down, and what can cause issues with the implants.” Reaching back, Warren stretches, palming over the gentle marker of the implant to shift his appearance once again. “Afterwards, we can see how direct the close-contact aspect is… I didn’t consider that before.” A small smile makes place as he pulls the jacket back on, pulled gently aside as the chimera holds his hip.
‘Want to rattle out the possibilities and tactics while we’re at it?’ – – ‘yeah,’ directly responds, separating before the flourish of thoughts can conjoin.
Departing out the door, Warren is left within the dense hallway that lines the temporary residential unit. Where a group of children run pass as he begins his way to the stairwell, where the open canvas is lined with artificial lighting, a clear view to temporal vistas and the rest of plant beds just beneath. The wide walkways is held enclosed around the cage elevator – plaster panes separating the two portions as it connects level to another, crossing the wide vast between one floor and into another. ‘You have my phone there, right?’ Warren reaches out to the chimera; palming his pocket.
‘Yeah, you left it,’ Malaphin teases back – reclining as they shift their appearance to be more relaxed as horns rest against pillows, peeling off pants to free the flourish of a rustic tail and limber legs. ‘Want me to read through reports?’
Warren makes it halfway through the next set of steps, moving out of the way for an exhausted worker that excuses themselves pass. ‘Read me the latest we have on the train turn-over,’ his boots resound against the metal and wood boarding, holding the backing of his attention as he makes his way down into the open lobby access, stepping out of the path of a shifting package loader.
‘Late night yesterday there was a report of three figures loitering around the brim of the trainyard, a PID was tasked over to investigate but they left before security could sweep the area. Then, coming a change in shift when the geothermal plant was easing out energy to the reservoirs to be tasked topside, the train was thrown off the tracks,’ Summarizing, the chimera keeps the flat details brief. ‘Right into an adjacent train on a switch track – collision was head-on and broke a power line unit.’
Warren slips himself through the double door entry way, tossing his hood up to muffle the atmospheric grind that surrounds the tiered platform. ‘Any reports of faults in the signal system?’ Doing his best to ignore the distant rumble he feels through his nerves, he moves on. Following residents as they step around the lumbering path of a PID – patrolling, he hazards as the pilot scans the crowding walkways suspended and upheld on the cavern siding. Gears hiss as he walks past, steps lumbering as he continues through the wavering crowd as he departs to a side avenue. If nothing else, to get some peace as the rattle of electronic noise that daggers his senses.
‘None that I can find; the rail has a live proximity feature that automatically diverts the rails if there’s human error,’ the chimera lapses back, scrolling through the phone as his arms remain scaled as palms are human soft – delicate to their temporary phone. ‘One of them could potentially undermine the programming, make it unreliable?’
Warren leans back against the Martian clay brick siding of a casual café, pressing fingers to temple as a headache steadies its beat. Too much noise – ‘that’s always possible. What about prior reports, anything that can be firmly connected?’
Back within their room the chimera sighs, kicking a knee up. ‘Only one other direct incident by public concerns, the trainyard was hit with a power-outage a few weeks ago. Around the time I was still in chrysalis,’ and scrolls down, ‘seems the marker that it’s the same people is a burn mark near the source of the power cutoffs. In the control room of the train system and in the power conduit.’
Piecing himself back to stand, Warren looks through the avenue before proceeding – a regional wet market that diverts his attention. ‘So, either looking for recognition, or doing for kicks,’ he does end up buying some fruit – if not just to offset the dirge of food he’ll need to top his energy back to normal. ‘What kind of earlier incident was there?’ notes as he takes a bite directly out a steamed tuber. Ordered next as a neat offering of fruit is packed aside in a mesh bag.
‘Mostly petty theft; power outages in some of the residential units located further down that might be connected. Not a whole lot to go off though,’ the chimera breathes. ‘Just about as much as you would expect from inexperienced dynams, especially direct drainers.’
‘Yeah,’ pieces back through, wandering through the connection to another avenue. Less stocked with the wandering masses as laundry hangs far above, bathed in the artificial lights of nanomachine projections. ‘Would make sense, getting bolder as time goes on. With how things are, easy to lose track of someone here,’ fizzles through his thoughts, stepping aside to watch idle as he continues to consume.
‘Might be worth asking where the PIDs work into all this,’ the chimera’s words resound hoarse, an afterthought as Warren watches people pass in the courtyard further down the walk. Silence left between them before he finally moves, pelting the remains into his mouth and the wrapper into a compost bin.
‘Will need to ask Ava what type of PIDs they’re running,’ Warren reaches back…
Silence.
Head held turned, he takes a few paces back, ‘think we found the distance limit,’ passes through a chuckle, kneeling to sit upon the ledge of a planter. ‘Most of theirs might be too big to safely pursuit, I guess.’ He reaches back beneath the hood of his furred jacket, easing a pressure to his neck as the headache still pounds.
‘You’re nearly a kilometer out, 850 meters,’ Malaphin calls back.
‘A pretty good distance, considering the layers of metal we're relaying between,’ Warren rolls his neck, aching as the cretae sits digging into his spine. ‘Might need some more of that tender care,’ laughs, sighing as he looks down to the bag of fruits. ‘I’m heading back up. Got some fruit before I need to take some of that energy slurry.’ As the primary, he should get his alchemia levels back up.
‘Think something shifted out of alignment?’ concern sounds as Warren begins tracing back through the avenues.
‘Might just not be fully settled in yet, I’ll give it another week before worrying too much,’ and he looks out into the vast cavern that holds Nuqtat Mari’s undercarriage – the overhead rift shielding the atmosphere enclosed. Beams making the vast support network as a rail casts from one distant edge to another – carved out in record time, a mere 20-year-old city beneath the Martian sands. ‘If it wasn’t so loud… I wouldn’t mind living here,’ partials between them… watching out to the distant bottom where the trains continue to peddle crucial materials.
‘Not too friendly to Mira or alchemia use,’ Malaphin reminds him as he begins back up the open staircase.
'Neither is Melas,' Warren returns with a sigh, sliding the card through to let him in. "Well, aside from the nightlife," he draws a smirk as he leans against the chimera, watching the active shift as they entwine in thought and touch. Where the firm smooth skeletal features ease to the soft touch of skin, horns replaced by braided curls as golden sight meets blue.
"You'll need to take me, once we get back," Malaphin purrs as they drop to the side of the bed, claws still following shifting thighs as Warren frees himself of his jacket, casting aside the spellbound boots and tapping the implant.
As his body is freed of the physical shifts he stretches out, letting gentle heat billow beneath his shirt as his fingers dig down, tossing it aside as claws rack up beneath his tank top that remains. Subjected to touch as his arms lie bare, letting his hair hang loose as he is welcomed to kneel after the chimera - straddling Malaphin as he picks up the shared phone.
"They've got quite a number of tasks for us," Malaphin sighs, making themself comfortable beneath the ossisgari's heavy weight.
"Was afraid of that," the ossisgari finally sits, scrolling through the task numbers listed beneath their squad ID call sign. "Heard they were short staffed on Cretae Specialists, but, over 80 concern checks they need ran?" His mouth turns askew, "those alone will take over a month."
A sigh blows from the chimera, hands finding idle fixation with the flicker of a fibrous tail. "Do we at least got a way in?"
"Ava was going to get us clearance, I'll check with her tomorrow." Heaves as he tosses the phone to land on the bag that holds their clothing. "We can start checking the perimeter then, see if any node can help pin down our marks."
Knelt over the chimera, Warren remains straddled as his palms hold against the armoring folds, leaning against it as they commune in the silence thoughts and touches – a back and forth taunt as the echo of past indulgences wavers between them in symphonic harmony. Hands adrift over skin, claws racking up the spinal rifts that line the ossisgari’s back as he relaxes into the touch, leaning into the gentle coax as his eyes drift closed. Indulging in the proximity as fingers trace over the chimera’s chest, beneath the echo of pecs and energy points that line the trace.
“You sure you want to share, Mal?” Warren chuckles; his hands splay as he looks down to his partner, gazing as the soft sight welcomes the touch – hands shifting to the pants covering his rifted thighs.
“No reason not to,” Malaphin smiles, breathing an exhale as the skin of their torso begins to split – golden flesh arching back as they expose the beat of their philosopher heart. “Better than those shakes,” teases. A kiss blown as they rest beneath the drake’s weight.
A laugh; a soften smile as the breath of bonespurs breathe beneath auburn curls.
“Can’t say you’re wrong,” eases as steam furls from the venting cream flesh, expressing as his hands divulge into the open chest – fingers enraptured by golden tendrils as he leans in. Touching the beating stone heart as energy pours between.
Like a stream it courses between them- blooming through muscles beneath the ossisgari’s frame as the alchemia charges between them, sight wavering shut, near closed as the soothing calm enraptures them in the dirge of vanishing light as their breathing calms. A synchrony between as the emotions pulsate aside their breaths, relaxing heads and hands as foreheads linger to press one to the other.
And yet, as peace so comfortably clings to their minds and bodies… it does little to dissuade the painful reprise coaxing to the surface by anxious thoughts. Circling emotions like a drain as he tries to keep it down, holding it firmly in throat as the exchange lingers to complete.
Remembering the chimera laid sullen in his arms. It aches.
A sigh breaks between them as the chest muscles move back to reform Malaphin’s chest as Warren moves to pull away, brushing aside the straining sight as his body goes through the mournful motions. All just the same… claws hold him close as he levels himself to calm, leaning up against the chimera beneath the low light.
“You alright?” Malaphin breathes, arms pulling to hold around his waist.
“I’m okay,” sighs as they find comfort amongst the other, “just… had to clear some tears from my system.” Warren sways into the touch of claws racking up his spine, fingers dancing over the white bloom rifts that carry between his vertebra.
And they hold close as the dreadful sorrow dissipates in the proximity embrace, sullied by the attentive contact of body to body – holding, hugging, heads laid temple to temple until they finally find rest among the covers.
Brushing hair aside from blue sight, a kiss presses to the side as they cradle close.
Pulling his arm away from the glimmering flora, tether-lines reform back into his forearm.
‘Node’s been damaged by shred mining,’ Warren exhales, leaning back onto the balls of his clawed feet as his boots hang from the side of his belt. Running a hand through his hair, he looks up from where the cretae has been torn exposed in the open shaft – parts pulled aside by machinery and pried open to encourage fresh growth pock-marked into the ground. His bonespurs still flare in the after call of the outpour vent, shaking his hand of the bitter white welts that marked the flora’s own grip on his skin. ‘Only got a trace of our chimera, and it might be long-gone by now.’
Warren heaves himself up to his feet, his claws scratching against the stone.
‘Think you can triangulate?’
Holding a palm against the cretae’s remaining bulk, the shape whispers beneath his palms as he makes silent commune with the ancient flora; decades old as it burrows through stone and structure. The pathing faulty – disjointed as the neural pathways are torn between connections, disruptive as he tries to follow the alchemical trace. Minor barbs coil around his digits, trying to keep him in place before pulling it fully aside. ‘No use here – they’re stripping between the connections. Going after whole branches.’
From where Malaphin is monitoring the camera connections, they sigh. ‘Great; I love cycling through hours of footage.’ Hunched in the edge of a maintenance tunnel, they scroll through the secured connection accessed by a backdoor loop – scratching through for those most likely to catch sight of their mark. ‘Want to help pin down the major route?’
‘Got nothing else better to do since the node may as well not be on the network,’ Warren exhales, stepping down from the platform and into view of the camera once again – his existence wiped in the backdoor loop.
‘Keep going down the main hall until you find the end, then we’ll back-trace.’
He follows the overhead lights and their guiding wires – small along the ceiling frames but easily discerned by his ossisgari sight. Caverns bend and turn as they follow along the edge of the ethereal growths, sections carved out between the wide-view of the cameras in which he gives a curious glance with fog-laden sight; sclera turned black as his cornea glow a creamy hue.
Turning a corner, he takes pause.
But just before the chimera can make out what Warren catches; there are claws lashing, a shock surging through the air as a bitter rattle shakes the electronics blind. He cannot catch what Malaphin says as defensive coils lash out, knocking a body aside as the static shock continues to surge – rocketing through his lungs until he heaves steam through in a shaking cough. Metal bitten into his side, his defensive coils curl down along his arm, it casts him stunned and blind as alchemia shatters through his sight. But even still, he gives chase as he can smell the assailant before him; his clawed feet digging into stone, kicking him forward on strong legs as the chimera tries to outpace him into the next connecting hall.
Thoughts shattering into adrenaline, he grabs an abandoned survey device from a passing structure level, chucking it as the chimera continues to scamper. “You-!” bites into a draconic growl, electricity still combusting inside his organs – energy made into his own as it surges over his spine. His bleeding hand fumbles to find grip to the knife at his side.
He’s thankful for the grip he has as the stone goes slick – wet by cavern moisture as the chimera has made their escape. Stopping himself from slipping as his feet find hold.
Steam curls around him as he paces his steps, marking the trace of alchemia as bonespurs furl beneath tied back hair as his sight flickers through the darkness. Their scent – unique as it bakes with the char of blown batteries and burnt metal finish. ‘Do you have sight of them?’ bounces back into his thoughts; disregarding the laceration that bleeds white over his side as steps hitch. Still tracing, still scanning; his sclera bake black as sight attunes to the wavering trace, watching for the mark of a scatter palm prints.
‘Can’t find them on the monitor –’ ––– ‘shit,’ Warren barks back, leaning himself against a post, struggling to shift the knife back into place on his holster. ‘They got me in the side – not too deep,’ he remains on alert; claws splaying against the ground as he continues to watch beneath the dim maintenance lights. Binds of cretae sit shredded – ripped raw from the production of nanomachinery as he steadies himself to his feet.
‘Divi, did you get a good look at them?’
Warren leans himself against the wall, heaving a sigh as he allows himself to slide down the surface face, landing in a partial sit as his fibrous tail flickers in agitation. ‘Yeah, our chimera, caught their scent, but it’s overloading my olfactory here.’ Pausing, he leans up forward with a sigh, pulling a hand through his hair. ‘Once we get away from the cretae fibers I might be able to track them down,’ heaves as his hand drops, knee holding his elbow as he exhales.
‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ answers back as Warren allows himself to rest.
Sight pressed shut – he still remembers the scent of the one that ensnared him, cast through glass and stone to the bitter cold surface. An attempt to recall the escaped chimera’s stench as the memory of another threatens to overpower.
His head thumps against the wall – an irritation with himself.
A hook dug deep into his draconic maw, pivoting him to be engulfed by the chill as the atmospheric dome continued to collapse – leaving him to struggle; struggle to get free, struggling to breathe as his body began to fight free as nerves alight on fire. Baking in the panic, terrified as blood boils and bursts.
“Hey,” welcomes as a hand curls to his side. Holding against the open wound that sticks to his shirt, “it’s not them,” Malaphin breathes, pulling the ossisgari into a hug as the stress continues to transfer between.
Arm wrapping to back, Warren curls himself against Malaphin’s embrace. “I know, it’s just… very similar, that’s all. I’m fine,” he pulls back, a small smile present. “Really, I’m okay.”
Knelt beside him, healing the fresh wound bleeding white, Malaphin’s concern at halt as sight search an exhausted face, senses held in transfer a silent conversation – checking with elevating levels as the ossisgari lies back. An exhale strained as sight drift closed. “We can track them down later, Divi, after you get some rest.”
Awake for far over 30; a pace traced through the cretae shafts and the work-mines farming the enigmatic flora strands. Far over the time he would’ve liked to find some lead… but it’s better than none.
Warren gives in, heaving a sigh. “Right… stress just getting to me,” and pulls a brief hug. “You might be able to help track them,” he motions towards a small spray of blood – a trail leading up to the higher end of the open shaft. “Managed to nick them before they tried to throttle me,” laughs dry. “Let’s pack up, see what we can find tomorrow.” Stretching himself out as the chimera stands, he takes Malaphin’s hands – pulled upright.
The smell of blood overtaking senses; spattered over claws and maw as heat breathes through draconic lungs.
Concrete and tile crack under the chasing storm, pillars broken as stone shatters back, struggling to keep sight of the black and white flicker. Explosive showering the distance – the uneasy yawn of metal collapsing upon itself shudders in the distance as he continues the chase – a distraction, in a sort. And crashes into them from a story above – draconic grip holding the chimera down firm into pavement as the ceiling continues to crumble.
He can take the weight as a block slams into his back – cast aside by the outstretch of fibrous wings.
Heart pounding in his throat, vents furling with adrenaline steam –
A prehensile tail drives a hook well into his jaw, tearing well into his cheek as he tries to billow steam into the struggling fugitive – just incapacitate, worry about the collapse later – simple thoughts scream.
But there’s a crane yank, pulling of a draconic head aside – a moment. He hesitates.
And the hydraulics of the machinery screams – pulling him off the chimera, casting him past the safety of the stone and metal workings.
Impact shuddering oxygen starving lungs.
The night is cold as Warren holds his body tight; sight snapped wide into the ceiling as adrenaline continues to rush.
Panting… his vents furl in uneven huffs, shivering as sweat sticks his features chilled.
Yet, the sleeping coil of a palm grounds him as he looks to the side; where the breath of the sleeping chimera eases the plates lining their spine open and closed. Still well asleep.
Keeping the chimera’s claws in place around his center, Warren pulls up his knees as he moves to a somewhat sit, an arm keeping his rifted spine from the sheets as he just stares into the opposing wall. Their jackets lying over the arms of the chair to the other side. Their bags nestled beneath the shelf that holds the monitor screen and the programming panel. The bag of vixtueri charm rods left open, the mixture of alchemical spices sat beside the custom spell-bind rods Malaphin had made from unused material – they were always good at using every bit of whatever was left lying around.
A sigh levels his lungs, palming a hand up and through hair as he slowly eases himself back to lie, still a little shaken as he chases out the reoccurring nightmare that has occupied his thoughts for over a year… keeping his implant closed to relay to the chimera in such a case like this.
His arms arch around his head as the sleeping claws hold around him…
Letting the connection ease from restrictions, he finds rest as thoughts coax through in indulgent glances, for the longing intimacy. Partly through curiosity; it’s adamantly received as the palm trails over his thigh, holding as the chimera shifts – – ‘Can’t sleep?’ whispers between – – ‘kinda,’ admits in return as the claws continue their trace. Gentle, they move to cup at his thigh, fingers pulled along skin as they begin to ease apart – – ‘bad dream?’ rumbles as the not-yet fully awaken chimera leans up against him.
‘Nightmare,’ sighs, welcoming the claws as they descend over an inner thigh – down towards to find focus, guided by his own hand to the splitting white. “Malik,” Warren breathes, curling a hand to Malaphin’s shifting features as the claws divide over his splitting seam – a desire for intimacy over needle-sharp memories. “Just… want you right now,” he sighs, gripping around claws as his hands reside preoccupied; a slicken palm coaxing against the twitch of glans as fingers play. His hand curls around the chimera’s back, a hand balling against the sheets with a mild groan.
And the ease of strokes guide him away from anxious thoughts, granting himself down into Malaphin’s palm as it continues to pet sensitive white; between the expressing grip of his prehensile lips, to the tender touches of glans twitches as claws pry inside him. Grounding him, keeping a steady bodily stride as they lean into the other, body arched to body as their heads find rest as breathing shares space. Of thoughts to bring to motions, visualization of past indulgences shared as silences keeps its place.
Their sight lie partial, golden into blue as foreheads press, hands enrapturing around as a pivot grinds around the digit thrusts as heat furls comforting steam as name share. In low tones, in guttural groans as shifts bring sighs; anchoring down as their hands grip close, thighs pressing, holding even as the digits continue to thrust as mouths linger to meet.
A gentle kiss leaves saliva to drift between – a golden request made at the second glance as chimera leans over, hand driven to cup as tendril tongues craft a choking girth – throat vents breathing in their stead as silence once again makes its place.
Hands pry against back plates, fingers curling up into braids as the only sound whips from lashes of a fibrous coil tail. Smacking against the bed until a finish meets in turn – both rolling through the motions as the dopamine bounces between.
Silence keeps its place as they hold beneath the low rebound light, accentuated by the gentle bioluminescent glow as they curl one into the other. Limbs kept entangled as their breathing lapses towards REM, where a smile buries into the scale-fold skin as the alchemist stone heart beats – a reassuring calm as claws hold him tight.
Hands pulling up and through tussled hair, the ossisgari breathes a heavy sigh.
“Morning starstruck,” charms as the bed shifts beneath him.
As he still lies exhausted, legs bent up as his fibrous tail curls around his ankles, he peers out from beneath his crossed arms. Knuckles brush up against his side exposed by the mid-sleep tussle, encouraging him to squint past the tier-cast light as Malaphin offers him a bowl. Shifting, stretching out as his hands grip their opposing shoulders, an exhale breathes; pushing himself to sit before taking the breakfast offering. “What time is it,” his voice grinds through a draconic growl to mellowed tones, poking at the steamed rice stir fry. Half of a container offering as he glances towards the carton in the chimera’s palms.
“Mid-afternoon,” Malaphin drops back, half on their side as their lower torso keeps its stone and furred shift. “Got one in a snare, south side,” notes before they continue to eat, attention turned to the muted monitor opposing the bed. A news broadcast, following up with the prior derailment as the subtitles piece along the bottom frame.
“Anything new,” half questions with a grunt, Warren sinking himself back to the bed as he lets his legs rest towards the side of the bed. Dreading to dislodge whatever gotten caught in their regional snare.
“Eh,” shrugs, “just sharing what we already know… public release, and all that.”
A sigh fumes through the ossisgari’s vents, shifting to better consume his meal as he watches the broadcast with mild amusement. After taking his time, giving his body space to fully rouse from the depth of lingering sleep, he stretches out once more – splitting his wings from the rifts in his spine. One stretching out against the wall, the other against the bed; he knuckles against the sheets as he pulls himself to stand, “was that the one by the regional power station?” he heaves, stretching outwards and back as the fibrous trace folds back beneath his skin.
“Smaller one,” Malaphin corrects, taking Warren’s bowl as they also shift to stand – body adjusting to full plantigrade legs to keep their pace constrained. “Might be a mid-class ferus, had that one set to a five-meter sphere.”
Knuckles pressing to his spine, Warren gives one last full body stretch; fingers gripping along the skin of his spine before giving the implant a touch to shift his appearance to guise. “Oh joy,” heaves as he picks out his pants, pulling them to knees before landing back on the bed. “Hope it’s not a canid…” grumbles under his breath.
To his side, Malaphin has already suited themself up to blend among the human crowd. “Doubt it… might be a reptilia, but with blends. Who knows,” sitting back to the bed with a sigh, the chimera curls a lead around elbow and palm. Where at the end an open notch holds an inactive charm rod. “Ready to go when you are,” they glance over, knotting the rope to keep its form before folding it away into the inner pocket of their jacket.
Pushing himself from the bed, Warren releases a tense and annoyed sigh. “Yeah – let’s go and get it over with.”
It’s just an hour walking distance… and there’s nothing else to do but to handle the rogue ferus chewing through industrial electrical lines. It’ll be another couple hours until they can safely scour through the cretae systems – a reminder made as they walk through the high-tiers, weaving through the low avenues and the cavernous street expanses. Wisps of alchemia seeps from the open terraces and lobby balconies, a saturation that only pools in the lowest levels, left behind as they climb into maintenance paths, following the dense heavy lines towards where the snare continues to buzz in the heavy electric silence.
“How many Ferus have we caught so far,” Warren casts a glance as he begins to pull off his jacket, folding it to hang over a crossbeam, placing their shared device safely into the pocket as from a safe distance he looks over the troublemaker; dog structured, its scales vibrate in agitation across the way, held beneath the regional barrier. Yanking his boots off one by one, his clawed digits splay as he pulls on his only otherwise defenses – cheap leather gloves freshly bought from a local shop.
“This’ll be the fifth; think we should lay out some more snares?” Malaphin does the same in removing their jacket, preparing the lead of rope as they hold the charm rod firmly in one fist.
Letting his body limber up, Warren rolls his neck. “Might as well,” tinges with dread – stretching out arms as he lets a length of his coil whips linger from the junction of his forearm. “Hate this bit…” grumbles beneath his breath, letting a fibrous length snake against the ground as he approaches the startled creature – an electric charge buffering just beyond the reach of the temporal snare. “Ready, Aurum?” He glances back, nerves surging with the electric charge held buffered by the creature barely three steps before him.
Malaphin nods.
Reaching in, electricity surges through him as the harsh plates clamp down onto his hand.
It’s a vicious grip that holds his hand in place as claws round back, tearing and digging against the leather gloves – down into spilling blood white as the creature bites at the cream coils trying to find grip. His other hand favors as much pain as he bites back the agony, wrestling it down as the electricity fumes through his body, grounding out through his skin as steam billows through his bonespurs, vents heaving anxious as he tries to keep it contained with hands and coil whips. His own leg reaches out, scratching out the snare’s sigil mark that is the last defense. “MAL!” He shouts, pulling his hand free before pinning it back to the ferus’ back, managing to scruff it as it finds preoccupation in a length of torn muscle tether.
The chimera is quick to bind the ferus with the ropes, letting the fumes of the charm coax it to lie limp after pulling a length between the jagged teeth.
As Malaphin takes over, Warren pulls away with a gasp; yanking off the ruined gloves as his partner ropes the creature up so it remains gently asleep – immobile once it awakens as its transferred through a sigil portal cast.
Sat back, Warren nurses his hands.
Latex white oozes between his fingers as they hang between his bent knees, shaking out the bitter pain bites as he watches the chimera complete the job. Letting his head rest against the wall – a full body sigh.
“Fuck,” he breaks a smirk, “that stung.”
“You alright?” Malaphin glances over, finalizing the transference destination through their phone.
“Yeah,” Warren pulls a partial shrug, “just, the usual.”
Once the ferus is set off to be received by containment, Malaphin kneels beside the ossisgari, offering a gentle clawed palm to heal the rending wounds.
Graciously, Warren offers his own in return. Flinching, he watches as the wounds are pulled to heal, ligaments coaxed back into place as beneath his skin energy blooms with regrown tether grips. “Thank you,” he breathes, leaning against the chimera as his other hand is taken to heal, his blood left to be wiped by a rag he has left in his coat pocket. “Should we set up a few more, just in case there’s a few more roaming around?”
“Would need some more materials,” the chimera sets up to sit at Warren’s side, gesturing to the scratched marking that once made the center of the temporal snare. “Could set this one up again if we go back to the hotel room – could set it after we make the rounds again.”
Heaving back against the wall, Warren lets his wrists rest upon his knees. “Yeah; we’re not too far from the west end shaft belt – can just run through the northwest end and come back around before settling in for the morning.”
“Sounds good,” the chimera exhales, letting their appearance lax in the low light as their body shifts beneath the shirt. “Might even catch a glimpse of that chimera again,” leaves a mild smirk, leaning head over – met with Warren’s own as they find rest.
Warren picks at Malaphin’s pocket – and Malaphin hands over the phone. “So that makes… five caught ferus, four homid-caused alchemy incidents - there’s a chimera running around, and we’ve still not caught sight of whatever had turned over the trains.” He picks through the device, categorizing the dues to be paid before slipping it back into his pocket. ‘Want to swing by a café before napping?’ He glances over, moving himself to return to his form shifted feet – – ‘of course,’ Malaphin purrs.
