un: Eve 🔪; video

[wroughtandtempered]

[ the video opens to a large, serpentine beast with a wolf's pointed ears pulling back from the camera, having apparently started the recording via booping the phone's screen with her snoot. she flicks out a forked black tongue once, then lays her head down on her paws and says slowly: ]

What do you do when you feel like garbage, and you can't do anything to fix why? When you've just got to wait it out.

...I don't know how long I'm going to be waiting, so. The more ideas the better.

[ a beat, and then she adds: ]

Thanks.

[ —before reaching out to tap the phone again, this time with a paw. animal lovers, enjoy that brief full-screen shot of pink snakewolf toebeans before the feed cuts. ]

Comments

[wroughtandtempered]

What, so I should just fucking ignore that you look like a wreck? The way you just ignored me?

—I don't need a distraction so bad I want you to be hurting over it.

[ is that what he thinks of her? that she would want that? ...that would make sense. (would it?) she did take advantage of him before. (...did she?)

the thought still hurts. ]

[daturameloxia]

I’m not hurting.

[As if it weren’t the most obvious lie.]

I’m stronger now. I’m not hurting.

[Wylan’s breath is quickly becoming labored as his chest pain is running out of control. Wylan scratches at his sweater and shakes his head.]

I’m strong now.

[He can breathe through this. He can do this. He’s strong, he’s… getting lightheaded and Eve’s face is so, so blurry.]

I’m fine. I’m strong.

[And he’s down (but not for long)]

[wroughtandtempered]

Being strong doesn't mean—

[ oh.

oh fuck.

Eve lunges for him, trying to catch him or at least keep him from cracking his head on something. whether or not she's successful, she braces and shifts into her other form, and— oh fuck, that is exactly as much of an offense to her sense of smell as she thought it would be. but she does her best to ignore it, sticking her nose up against Wylan's wrist to get a read on both his pulse and his general health. is this hypoglycemia, lack of sleep? ...gods forbid, something worse? ]

[daturameloxia]

[It’s primarily the soul alchemy as his pulse pounds out of control, double his resting pulse. His breathing continues to come and go until his pulse starts to slow again and Wylan blinks awake.

Oh, it happened. Again.

He’s just not used to company other than Relius when he wakes up.]

Oh. [He still seems confused as the chest pain continues to ease. It takes him a moment before his strength starts to return and he tries sitting up.]

[wroughtandtempered]

[ as soon as Wylan moves, Eve puts an enormous paw on his chest— not pressing down, just trying to keep him from getting up. ]

Stay the fuck down. I need you to focus on breathing until I'm sure your pulse isn't going to fucking take off again.

[daturameloxia]

[Wylan doesn’t have the wherewithall to not try to hide an open wince at even the slightest touch to his chest or how he pulls at his sweater. He checks himself a moment later by schooling his expression and dropping his arms down by his side. He’s strong now. He can fight through this.]

Okay. [A bit breathless, but he can do this. He’s fine, this is fine. He can prove his father wrong if he can just make it through this pain.]

[wroughtandtempered]

[ unfortunately (fortunately?) for Wylan, even if he hadn't winced Eve could literally smell the spike of endorphins associated with pain. she pulls back, ears pressing back in further alarm. ]

Wylan. You are absolutely hurting and it isn't fucking strong to try to push through it. I'm asking as a worried friend and a fucking doctor— how long has this been going on?

[daturameloxia]

I just need to-- [Breathing. Breathing through the pain. He just has to breathe. And as he breathes, his complexion warms again, the tingling in his fingers eases, and the pain in his chest does finally ebb away.

And Wylan is right as rain once more. Perhaps tired and hungry, but whole and hale otherwise.]

See? [Okay, maybe still a bit out of breath.] Only needed to breathe.

[But he does admit,] It is relatively new. But it comes and goes and I'm back on my feet after.

[wroughtandtempered]

You probably shouldn't be. If your heart's acting up, or something...

[ she hadn't caught any off-rhythms, but... what the fuck else could be going on? nothing she can tell without a proper examination, that's for fucking sure. ]

New is— okay. Okay. [ then, bitterly: ] ...If I asked you to come to the clinic with me, would you go?

[ Eve's pretty sure she knows the answer. ]

[daturameloxia]

It will get better with time, I've been assured-- [Yikes. Wylan closes his mouth perhaps a moment too late. He clearly knows what's going on, what's causing this, and has done nothing to improve the situation, fainting and all.]

No, I don't wish to go to the clinic. I have work to do.

[That and he already knows what's caused this and what he thinks is the right avenue to move forward.]

[wroughtandtempered]

[ she stares at him for a long moment after the admission, ruff slowly starting to bristle—

then she abruptly deflates. ]

Fine.

[ —is all Eve says, before reaching into the satchel slung around her first set of shoulders and pulling her phone out, which she drops to the floor. as she makes direct eye contact with Wylan, she says: ]

Phone? Enter speaker mode and call Wash.

[ ...that sure is the sound of a phone dialing. ]

[daturameloxia]

[Wylan watches Eve carefully, unsure of what's about to happen. However as soon as she mentions Wash, he starts to wriggle and fight underneath her paw. Sure, it starts to stir up the pain again-- fighting his friends, that doesn't seem like it will make him strong--, but Wylan ignores it for the immediate need of keeping Wash away.]

Don't call him!

[Wait. That doesn't seem right. Wash is his dad. Wash cares for him no matter what. Why would Wylan want him gone?

No matter, Wylan struggles best as he can to escape.]

[wroughtandtempered]

...phone. Pause call.

[ Eve nudges the phone out of reach, just to be safe, and then steps forward so she's standing in a loop over Wylan— one segment over his chest, one over his legs. she doesn't lie down on him—she'd squash him flat if she did that—but she does crouch down to keep him from getting anywhere. ]

I'm giving you a choice. Either you tell him within the next 24 hours whatever the fuck is going on, or I'm going to him.

[daturameloxia]

[If that isn’t a rock and a hard place if Wylan ever knew one. He can’t tell Wash, that much is clear. However, if given 24 hours, Wylan could shore up his locks and defenses, or even try to take up residence at the Research Center if Relius allows him.

The choice is clear.]

I’ll tell him. [If Eve can sniff out a lie, though, he is absolutely screwed.]

[wroughtandtempered]

[ bad news for Wylan: Eve risks another tongueflick in the face of the noxious smell from the chemicals, and— ah. ah ha ha. she could put down that adrenaline spike to being faced with a hard decision, or the fact that he's in pain, but—

somehow, she fucking doubts it. besides, she knows what resignation smells like. there's none of that there. ]

So you're going to lie to my fucking face, too? Fuck you, Wylan.

[ ...a very small part of her thinks she should fucking settle down. something is wrong here; she's pretty sure this is out of character for him. but— she's also more than a little hurt, and she's never been great at reining in her temper even when she wasn't feeling slighted.

which is why she turns away from him entirely. his turn to get ignored as she reaches out and hits the button to resume the call. ]

[daturameloxia]

[Wylan tries to turn over onto his stomach and crawl away from Eve when she realizes he's lied to her. It's sounding a whole lot like that 24 hour window has been stripped away, so he needs to make a call of his own and a quick escape with as many components as he can manage to carry without exploding himself.]

[wroughtandtempered]

[ for fuck's sake— no you fucking don't, Wylan. Eve whips around to grab the back of his shirt in her mouth, outright growling now. muffled: ]

I will fucking lie down on you, do you want to find out just how much I weight—

[schrodingerscockroach]

*Click*

Eve, what's up? [His voice is flatter than normal. This is Business Mode Wash.] I'm kind of busy at the moment.

[wroughtandtempered]

[ STILL KIND OF MUFFLED ]

Shit, sorry— Wylan's having health issues and being shifty as fuck about it, I didn't know who else to call—

[ fuck, is she going to have to drag him home herself? she probably can, but what a fucking mess— ]

[daturameloxia]

[Yeah will probably continue to be muffled because Wylan is continuing to squirm wildly in Eve's mouth. Is he trying to shed his sweater? Yes, maybe, probably.]

[schrodingerscockroach]

[There is a pause.]

[There is a grunt on the other end of the line that definitely isn't Wash.]

Quiet. You might be free to go after all. Eve, is that Wylan with you?

[wroughtandtempered]

Ye— fuck.

[ please hold as she lets go of Wylan's collar, only to grab him roughly and wrap him up the way a boa constrictor might— though a boa constrictor does not have grabby paw-talons capable of adding to its grip. try escaping now, you wiggly fuck.

more clearly: ]

Yes. I can send you the address?

[daturameloxia]

[Just as Wylan thinks he might have a chance to run when his feet hit the floor, Eve wraps around him and grips him tight. His sensitive chest sends echoes of the earlier pain rocketing through him. He can't help the quiet hiss of pain.

And still he tries, and very much fails, to wiggle in this new, much tighter grasp.]

[schrodingerscockroach]

Yes, send me the address.

[Further from his phone, voice low and menacing.] You try extorting worried people for money again, I will be back, and I'll be a lot less nice. [Then the sound of someone being allowed to fall to the floor, coughing as Wash moves away.]

He's being wiggly again, isn't he?

[wroughtandtempered]

Okay, hold on—

[ Wash can hear her snap a quick set of orders to her phone; a moment later a map screenshot with her current location marked pops up via text, as well as a screenshot of the photo Wylan had sent her of his apartment number. ]

Yeah. ...He really didn't want you to know about this. I've got him wrapped up, but I don't want to hold on too long; his chest hurts.