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@theartofmadeline
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One Nice Bug Per Day
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@alchemiists-archived
❝ there is nothing here for me, except the finality of it all. may they become acceptable, may they balance the scales, may they be the dirge i sing as the world falls down around me. the guns are loaded and the bodies come cold. i am nothing more than the sum of all my choices.❞
HISTORY. CONNECTIONS. PINTEREST.
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐞𝐳𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰. )
“haven’t yet. and believe me, i’ve had plenty of experience.” but then, what most people would regret, ezra deliberately seeks out. he’s always been something of an outlier. taking the drink back, he gives it a tentative sip. oh, that’s good. “much obliged,” he says, reaching to offer dante a firm pat on the shoulder. “’course, now that i’m satisfied, it’s only fair i pay it forward. they’ve got a few decent things on tape, although… i s’pose for you, everywhere does. what’ll it be, then?”
"Surprise me—call it a quid pro quo.” This is a good night, one where he doesn’t have to think about the empty apartment or the stress of his job; it’s all focused into movement, into thumping bass, into the new people he’s bound to run up. “Anything that can wipe a few brain cells; bonus if it can help me forget the shit I pulled with my ex, though.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢. )
“If I see one more person in cat ears, I might actually start to feel decent about the fact I just tossed on a suit and a hat. I really thought I had phoned in a costume this year.”
@alchemiists
“I can point four people who put on cat ears and look sexy just for the party.” Dante says, though not without a bit of irony. Sexy mad scientist wasn’t exactly the most creative thing he could think of; it was just something that felt fun tonight. “But hey, at least they let you in with your—banker costume? Seems fun for you.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐞𝐳𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰. )
@alchemiists !!
“fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, sidling up with a drink already in hand. it’s not his first. far from it. maybe that makes it easier to hand off. “mind fixing ‘em up again? the drink, i mean. unless…” he bares his needle-like teeth in a grin. “well, you’re free to take it any way you like.”
"Any way I like, huh? You’ll regret saying that.” He gives a dangerous smile back, blowing against the side of the glass, and changing the liquid from something that’s mild to something that’ll sneak up on him. Strong and sweet all the same. Something that feels like venom on the tongue if he has enough of it.
Handing it back to him, Dante eyes him up and down. “What, no drink for me? Kinda feeling left out here, big man.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐝. )
“Hey, hey, hey, guess who’s officially getting his GED this year?” He hasn’t shared it with anyone but Dante yet, but it seems fitting that he’s the first to know.
@alchemiists
“You fucker—come here!” He gives him a hug, a tight one, and grins. “This you inviting me to your graduation or—wait, I know. My place isn’t far. I have a couple of steaks. We’ll make a night of it. Or we get take-out. Your call.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐞𝐳𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰. )
“pretty boy?” he echoes, amusement laced into his voice. “now you’re just being a tease. haven’t heard that one in a good, long while.” bad beer on the other hand… that’s a much more common predicament. unsurprising, too—this is far from the best dive in the area. “god gave us beer for a reason, didn’t he? i’d wager it wasn’t to sit around and stare at it, either. ‘sides, this is probably a bit better even than church wine.” brow cocked, he can’t help but notice the liquid’s shift in color. “and what kind of edits would that be?”
He passes his beer over to Ezra and grins. “Call it my signature brew. Cheap beer that tastes like something a little too expensive for a dive.” Dante likes flexing his power, the thought of being a mutant the only semblance of agency he can find in a world that fucks people over for shits and giggles. “And don’t talk to me ‘bout church wine; you’re just reminding me I haven’t been on the pews this week,” he says suggestively, his own eyes finding Ezra’s. “The old father’s gonna be missing my colorful commentary. Or the silence he’s got when I’m looking up at the dear old Savior.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐢. )
while expression is discarded as unnecessary, their interest is visibly piqued at the mention of an attempt. even if said attempt had ended in failure, there’s a valuable lesson to be learned. more importantly, a possibility that their own expertise could prove useful. much like dante could not force the body to accept his offering, he could not breathe life into artificial tissue. for that matter, neither can they. but they can offer something sufficient.
“we may be able to assist,” they start, hands clasped loosely in front of them. “the technology is… lacking in that department, but we exist with some mastery over genetic material. with the right kind,” human, of course. preferably from the afflicted themselves… “we may be able to get it to work with your artificial organ, rather than against it. not functional on its own, but little is outside of an organism.”
The assistance is... well, it’s something. Dante marks that off the checklist if organ rejection is off the table, then only mechanical functions need to be retrofitted, and Dante still has his old contacts with a professor that owes him a favor near Silicon Valley. He’d also apply for a government grant, and maybe ask the fucking dean again, but—he could start. Another proposal. Another life saved. Taking the load off UNOS for another kidney or beating heart.
He stows the kidney in place of a heart. Since Isaac can’t make it viable with organ filtration, the heart as a pump is just the thing to get started. “Okay. I’m going to need—Christ. We need to make this portable. A power source, a motor. Materials that don’t break down as easy. Non-toxic.” Dante rattles off what he needs as he hands it over to Isaac. “Do you have any engineers over there in your little private folder? Former colleagues? Anyone?”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐞𝐳𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰. )
“ah, but i can work with a yet. that’s not a rejection.” it’s the chance of one, which more often than not works out in his favor. is it his mutation? almost certainly. but ezra isn’t one to question victory. “so you’re a man of taste, i see. or frugality. haven’t decided which, yet.” even so, he struts off to get their drinks. one matching dante’s taste, and the other… well, he has to cater to his own as well. “how’s that then. to your liking?”
Dante smirks at the other man and takes a swig of the beer. Promptly grimacing, he shakes his head. “Bad beer, but beggars can’t be choosers right, pretty boy?” he shrugs, shaking his head, taking another ill-advised drink of his beer. “You know, I shouldn’t be drinking. But I’ve skipped church, I’ve had a shit week. In for a penny, right?” He swirls the beer glass, changing the color quickly, the composition adjusting to his preferred brand. “How ‘bout you? The booze taste fine, or do you want me to make an edit?”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐢. )
“we suspect that will hold. our calculations depict that the rate of complication will be minimal.” nonexistent, although they don’t claim to be so egotistic. a billion could get the treatment and only one receive negative results, and it would still be a chance worth considering. going through with, but only after consideration. it’s a world very, very far from reality… but not one they don’t believe in creating. in starting to create.
but easy has very rarely been on the tip of their tongue, for good reason. confidence builds arrogance. arrogance builds failure. “have you ever made an attempt at something more malleable? bone is a good start, but far from the end goal. replacement is a whole-body affair, after all. all cells require it, at a certain point.”
Ah, well—Isaac hasn’t seen his handiwork yet. If he can get the body to cooperate with foreign material, especially when it’s a vital organ? Dante’s going to be a very happy man. “See now, I didn’t say that I didn’t make an attempt,” he says, plucking an anatomically correct, yet artificial kidney out. “This thing doesn’t have muscle or nerves, so I’m just stuck on how to make it autonomous.”
He sighs and grabs some papers, some Silicon Valley eggheads trying to help him invoke the muscles via electronic coding. The code’s not great, since it’ll need computers the size of two Walkmans, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Unless there are mutants that can help, there’s not much else that’s going to be useful here. “Here. I mean. The technological gobbledygook is outta my degrees’ hands, but unless I can regrow actual organs? I’m not exactly sure how to let this weird lil’ thing help.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞. )
Levi just nods blandly when Dante mentions an ex. Having been with Riley for over half of his life, he doesn’t really know what having an ex is like, so he usually opts not to comment on those threads of conversation. Plus, Dante is a stranger. Levi’s positive he doesn’t want to know anything about the man’s love life, just as he’s sure Dante doesn’t want him to ask. He understands being miserable in public, if nothing else, so Levi will briefly cheers to that before taking a slow sip of his new drink.
‘What’s your poison? Your mutation?’ The way the question is posed is entirely too apt. Levi rolls the bourbon over his tongue with a blank expression and considers lying. He’s got a list of clever comebacks a mile long for ‘why the gloves?’ that he’s cultivated over the past fifteen years. Something about this interaction makes him want to tell the truth, but only in a weaponized sort of way. “I kill people.” Blunt. Simple. To the point. And that’s all it is, isn’t it? There’s no nuance to what Levi can do.
He leans one elbow on the bar so he can face Dante, head tilted with a hint of intoxication and plenty of curiosity. “You?”
"Oh, straight up?” He waves to the bartender and orders Levi a double—just for telling him that. That’s a shit hand. Dante would put an arm around him if he didn’t think it could kill him, but he’s known to show his appreciation using a lot of things. Sometimes an extra one percent, sometimes a spare cigarette. “I’m sorry. That’s gotta fucking suck. But you’ve made it this long, so I figure you got a trick. Or you’re just real careful.”
He grabs the empty shot glass and focuses, the pain in his temples coming into focus. It hurts. It always hurts, but when he’s having his migraines it feels like it magnifies to a point where he doesn’t even know why he does it. But it twists itself. Turns into steel, A crude figure of a ballerina, before he breathes out and it snaps back like a rubber band.
“That. Mostly try to turn stuff into—” A pang on his head. In his temple. “Into other stuff. I can make it but calories and shit. Wicked side effects, but it doesn’t beat dying, though.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐢. )
a workhorse. while not generally a term used endearingly, the colony has no qualms with agreeing. “we don’t require the same rest many others do. why shouldn’t we fill our time with improving the state of humanity?” it’s their only goal, after all, albeit not in the same way dante has laid out. external improvements are fine, but they will only hasten the demise of those less evolved. humans have proven to be incapable of wielding great power. once they have stepped in to remedy that, there will be more use for this kind of technology.
“the ethics can be questionable, we understand. human trials are… complicated in that way.” they hold the sanctity of life above all else, save for them war rears its ugly head. then, who cares? let the young and bold die. they can be replaced. not so for things involving medicine, involving science. not unless it makes mass murder more effective. “but the benefits here must outweigh the cost. is your patient not satisfied?” they are. they really, really are. they only need another try to confirm their previous results. “perhaps this time, something more complex. something transplants often fail.”
An idealist. It’s fucking novel. Dante smirks at the notion of improvement; he’s seen too much fighting out with a ragtag group of people and seeing the worst that people have to offer; from humans and mutants. From people fighting with each other. Maybe it’s why he clings to the extracurriculars as much as his work here—he’s doing good. And if he’s doing good, at least he’s doing something about it, rather than feel miserable and watch the world descend into chaos.
“No, no. He’s satisfied. No complaints yet, since it’s gonna take a while to get used to.” He hears them talk, and takes some papers from under his desk, haphazard and barely researched. “Bone is easy. I can make bone and have it adjust well enough. But the fleshier bits? The kidneys? The livers? Sometimes people just clock out if it’s a bad match. Sometimes it’s a month, sometimes, minutes. It’s just—trying to make an artificial thing is harder than it is. The body’s too complex for me to just whip up a goddamn artificial kidney out of thin air.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐞𝐳𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰. )
there’s caution between them, but dante is far from the first person to hold him at arm’s length, particularly under these conditions. people see sharp teeth and devil’s eyes and think something is amiss. and usually, they’re right. “to be frank, it’s not a line i use often. maybe i should start. worked on you, didn’t it?” nudging at his arm, ezra passes him on the way to the bar. “what’ll it be then?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder.
"Hasn’t worked yet, pretty boy,” he says, snorting, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Dante thinks about the drinks, about how he’s had a lot of time to be told not to drink, but hell, it’s his body and he can ruin the hell out of it. It’s only discouraged, not a full-on ban anyway. That’s what he’s telling himself. “Get me a nice cold one. Or a Long Island. I’ll leave it up to you.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐞𝐳𝐫𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰. )
“i’ll do you one better,” he starts, flashing a mouthful of needle-sharp teeth. “i’ll get a different face out of you. one less exhausted with life, if i can manage.” pulling the door back open, ezra gestures for dante to step in first.
The smile is odd, but hell, if it’s free drinks, Dante isn’t going to say no to them. A careful eye watches the stranger, and lucky enough for him, he can defend himself. There’s a careful guardedness to his approach, and he wonders if this night is going to get a little more... exciting, in a word. “Huh,” he says, flexing his left hand as he steps through the door. “This line work on everyone?”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐢. )
there’s no doubt in their collective minds that there’s good reason to celebrate, although their own reason for doing so undoubtedly differs. finally, after years of toiling at the feet of those far, far beneath them… the solution to their plight has been found. their ( reality forbid ) prayers answered. their dilemma blocking them from their secret to success has finally been relieved. they can reproduce themselves. and in doing so, fill the lives of billions of lives. but starting small is appropriate. one host. then two. then five. and so on.
“it’s the next step, isn’t it? improvement shouldn’t stay small.” in much the same way that they must occupy the minds of every small-minded human ( and human-adjacent ) on this planet, dante must provide the pathway to evolving the body. together, they can go far. the colony will just have to keep the specifics to themselves for a time. “we understand your hesitance. but this is a major success. we feel an obligation to see it through.”
"You got a point there, Nazari. You’re a fucking workhorse, but I respect it.” He has to hand it to them, ever since they came on the project, they’d reignited the passion that Dante had for research and the sciences. He had enjoyed working with his research assistants of course, but there was something about working with a peer that had him working full throttle. And one that knew his ability, nonetheless. Mutants working for a common good—what a concept.
“Then we will. Though I’m just on the orthopedic side of things—when you go around and fiddle with people, it tends to get a little dicey.” Finishing off the empanada, he turns to grab at the latest data that they had on hand and goes to check. “What do you got in mind? I mean I’m still trying to work on the extremities, but if you have anything in your fancy-shmancy genetics lab there, I’m all ears.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐥𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 𝐝𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐚. )
Dante! “Like Alighieri!” Leo enthuses, perhaps a little louder than is appropriate for the middle of mass, and she bites down on her lip with a sheepish glance to the pulpit. It’s not a name one hears so much lately, and she’s thrilled to meet her first Dante in many years. Moderating her voice to a lower volume, she continues: “My name’s Leonarda, but most people just call me Leo.”
These days, anyway. She’s lived through enough times and cultures to have gone by many variations: Lady da Sabbioneta, madam, Leonarda, Miss Sabbioneta, Goody Finch (which she shouldn’t have used because she hadn’t technically been married to Mr. Finch, but it was convenient to both of them to pretend). She’s not really fussy at this point.
Usually the idea of leaving Mass early would be mortally offensive to Leo: utter sacrilege. But in Dante’s vulnerability she thinks she senses a lost lamb. If you can’t find yourself, then the clamour and thrill of Mass will only drive you further into the tempest. It would, she thinks, be a good Christian act to accompany him out. (Leo’s always had her oblivious ways of excusing sacrilege). “Well, I pardon you, and I’m confident God shall also pardon you. Let’s go.” she nudges his shoulder back with the familiarity of old friends, getting to her feet and leading the way down the pew with none of the shrinking self consciousness one expects of early leavers. She’s far, far too old to ever be embarrassed.
Once outside, she turns her face to the sun and inhales the crisp air deeply, spinning around. “A beautiful day, isn’t it, Dante? Nature really is the art of God.” She doesn’t know if he’ll actually be familiar with Alighieri’s work enough to spot the quote, but either way the sentiment is true, and he’s always been one of her favourite writers.
The first thing he thinks of as she walks down and out the church is how short she is, and the second is a warm sense of camaraderie between the two of them. He hadn’t exactly gone looking for a friend during Mass, but right now anything is better than here. It’s odd, to feel a little chastised by the act of leaving early, but he swallows it down and places a smirk upon his face. God and the priest can shit on him all he likes for leaving, but companionship was something he wasn’t going to take for granted.
He flexes his fingers and a pang of pain from his temple shoots out, a random crucifix on the wall turns upside down for a moment, a last little joke to himself before it falls back onto its proper holy position and he exits. Dante can still hear the good father’s ravings, the homily, the good Word told to his flock and he breathes. “It’s the city, Leo. But whatever floats your boat.”
Stopping to sniff the flowers wasn’t exactly on his list, and his head tilts towards her—he had met enough tenured English professors to get the reference. The pitfalls of being named after that prick that wrote Inferno, he supposes. “It is a nice day. I’m not going to be a grump about that.” He holds his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “Gives me a headache, though.” Leading her down the sidewalk, he goes on to speak. “Gonna be a walk from here to that damn diner. You okay with a long walk?”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞. )
Dante. Mutant. An interesting lead-in, and a ballsy one, Levi will admit. But maybe he’s just sussed out the reason Levi is wearing gloves in the middle of summer. Either way, Levi’s confusion circles back around to amusement, and he takes Dante’s hand to shake firmly, starting to smile again. “Levi. Also mutant.” Maybe if he ends up liking the guy enough, Levi can call Riley over and see if his drunk ass can do anything for Dante’s migraine.
“I’m good, man,” Levi reassures him, finding them a spot at the bar where they can lean, and he can trade in his now-empty glass — he quickly downed the rest — for the new one that’s on Dante. “S’a bar really where you wanna be with a migraine?”
"Met an ex. Didn’t exactly like the way it went,” he says, grimacing at the whole... mess with Mark that had happened just a couple of nights back. It’s still in his head, focused and horrible. He wants to wash it out with tequila. “And besides, I don’t exactly like being alone hankering for a goddamn drink with my head pounding. I can be miserable in public.”
He’s a little more muted, and he expects a quick word or a sharp jab from him. But nothing yet, and he soothes himself with the fact that the doppelganger was at least a fellow mutant; less likely to get his ass to HR. “So. What’s your poison? Your mutation?” Dante shrugs. It’s always a hit or miss question with people like them. Either it was a party trick, the core of their being or a traumatic memory. He doesn’t know how to parse it, so he ends up going forward, barreling on. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wanna. Just curious.”
( 𝐟𝐭. 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐢. )
@alchemiists !!
“it looks to be a success so far. there are no signs of infection or bodily rejection, as of yet. we expect it will remain that way.” their position as an assistant is one the colony is no longer purely invested in, but working with thousands means that diverting energy is simple enough. some can work with the victory they’ve been given, others can assess the data in front of them. “have you considered further augmentation, yet?”
Dante should be jumping for joy, after the whole debacle with the patient. The consent forms were given and while he had to get his ass raked over coals with the whole medical ethics of it all, the patient was alright with mutants. A welcome surprise! He’d tell Isaac to relax, but God they were a workhorse. He’d even brought them celebratory empandas—though they were taken by some of his younger assistants first.
“Damn, I mean—further augmentation?” He asks, waving said empanada around. “Metal legs and shit? I mean, unless you can get marrow to transplant to metal. Why’d you ask?” The possibility is exciting, and while it might be hot off the heels of the trial, there’s no time like the present. “You gonna make some more work for us?”