the exquisite corpse

danika vasile. sister death. vampiress. 🩸 penned by thea

[danikavasile]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 🩸 — ｍｕｓｅｓ

danika vasile - blog, about, timeline, powers maja lim — blog, about, timeline, powers  junji okada — blog, about, timeline, powers  anise kim — blog, about, timeline, powers  niamh murphy - blog, about, timeline, powers  teddy liu - blog, about, timeline, powers

[trash-rules]

Mulholland Drive (2001)

[isl-collective]

T H E N A Z A R Y A N D E N

1550 BC - 1401 AD

The buried saga of the extinct Armenian vampire clan, The Nazaryans, surfaces as a captivating enigma that has puzzled generations of purebloods. Emerging from the heartland of ancient Armenia, their history remains shrouded in darkness and intrigue, embodying a lineage of remarkable abilities and culminating in the extraordinary birth of their only living descendant, Danika Vasile, who marks the final chapter of their legacy.

The Nazaryans all shared a unique genetic expertise to create haemokinetic blades, which are weapons constructed out of blood. This formidable den, renowned as stealthy fighters and invisible assassins, instilled awe and fear in those who came into contact with their terrifying abilities.

Centuries passed, with empires stampeding across Armenian territory. Armenia stood as a land of intersection and divergence, a region of cultural amalgamation and remarkable tenacity, from the heights of the Urartian monarchy to the depths of the Roman conquest. The Nazaryans thrived as shadowy sentinels, their haemokinetic blades making them expert and undetectable assassins.

The trajectory of the Nazaryan lineage was forever altered with the birth of a singular child, an event that would signify a mysterious new beginning for the otherwise exterminated den. Danika Vasile, an aberration among purebloods, entered the world as the child of a human mother, born in the ancient domain of West Pomerania, now known as Poland. Her mere existence contradicts accepted vampire norms, which biologically prevented pure-blood vampires from having children with humans.

Danika's peculiar heritage casts her as a living enigma, a bridge between two realms previously deemed impassable. As she matured, her latent talent for conjuring haemokinetic blades emerged, mirroring the signature prowess of her Nazaryan forebears. The dormant legacy of her ancestral clan, thought to be extinct, found an unexpected resurgence in this unassuming successor.

Yet, amidst the unfolding of Danika's remarkable abilities, questions emerged like phantoms from the past. What drove the Nazaryans to oblivion? Whispers spoke of an arcane plague, a deadly act of sorcery that was said to have wiped out the Nazaryans. This disease purportedly brought the most powerful vampire clan in South Caucasus to naught. It is speculated among historians that this alleged demise was the work of a magical practitioner—an unidentified conjurer who wielded a biological weapon for unknown motives.

As the final remnant of the Nazaryan lineage, Danika bears the mantle of their legacy while knowing little to nothing about them. Her mastery of haemokinetic blades became a testament to her lineage's extraordinary gifts. Yet, Danika's origins remain veiled in obscurity. Her history, a mosaic of lost vampiric lore, is a realm untrodden and obscured.

[emily-axford]

“Who says it has to be over? I could use a nice, hot shower.” STATION 19 - ‘What Are You Willing to Lose’, 6.15

[themakeupbrush]

Rodarte Fall 2023

[danikavasile]

a glimpse into the past...

Danika at the convent (1402 - 1415)

Danika and the hedge witch (1416 - 1420)

Danika during the Renaissance (1422)

Danika weds Count Franz Wagner (1690)

[danikavasile]

hanxjun​:

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

Biting his lip, instead of answering, he ended up casting his glance to the side with a small nod. It was a lot to process all at once, the fact that maybe there would be a way out of this vicious cycle, and somewhat (?) ethically. The world had changed in the centuries he’d walked its ground, and while he had been aware of it, he couldn’t believe that they were now in a place to have such options. It was a weight in his chest, but whether good or bad, he couldn’t tell quite yet. Even his quavering ideals and the civil war being waged between all of his emotions were no match for this place. He would probably (most definitely) go home and worry the subject in his mind all night.

It would take a long time to get over everything that was happening. Old habits died hard, it was a cliché for a reason. But maybe this search for a "cure” or whatever this could be called would help him reach a solid conclusion on his stance on the whole thing. This was day one, and he imagined what would have happened if he had stepped into this office sooner than he had. Maybe they would have already found a solution, but a Minjun even a few years prior would have broken down so quickly in front of Danika. He would have walked out of that office with less of a fight and a disappointed doctor staring holes into his back. But he had realized sometime between then and now that he had some place in the world standing next to Roga’s side, next to the Guans. Roga’s absence had reminded him just how much he needed the Guans, and maybe just how much they needed him.

“Anywhere works for me. I don’t mind travelling either.” He gaze drifted to a window in the room. “Maybe getting out of the city more often would be nice.”

Minjun immediately turned back to Danika, eyes wide. In his moment of surprise, he had all but forgotten. What to tell the others? Though they were still very busy both within the sphere of the company but also within their own personal endeavours, people would question why he, who had avoided the medical plaza like it itself were the plague, was suddenly the doctor’s shadow. Up until then his excuse was that he was never injured enough or that he was too old to need a check-up. It was a shoddy excuse at best, but they must have chalked it up to him just being old and hating getting check-ups. Lots of people didn’t like doctor’s appointments, what’s to say that he didn’t either? “I’ll… definitely have to think about that,” he hummed, squeezing at his own hands.

“I, um,” he paused, standing up as soon as she had hinted at the fact. “I don’t have any questions right now.” His brain had shut down from the sheer load of information and emotional unhashing he had done over the course of the visit. It had probably been less than an hour, but it had felt long enough that maybe he had grown an extra tail. “But I might have some when we next see each other.” The doctor had picked up her phone, eariler, which had reminded Minjun that he’d left his at home again. He never checked it, and anyone that needed him would drag him away personally or not at all. A habit that he had been trying to fix, but again: old habits.

“But I did want to thank you. For everything. And I apologize again for being vague and causing a ruckus… I know that you operate with a more… direct approach. And I’m sure you weren’t prepared to give me such a talking to.” He let out a soft, nervous, huffing sort of laugh.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Danika also smiles. “I can assure you that I am always prepared to give a man a proper dressing down.” 

She then leads the older man out of the room and down the sterile corridor. Various medical personnel flit about. They know better than to stare, even though this must be a rare sight for them. In fact, she'd wager that most of them had never even seen Minjun in person. Danika’s sure that the whispered gossip had to have started as soon as the double doors shut behind them. 

They stand in the airy lobby, Danika facing Minjun. It was bright outside, but the large windows are blocked by shades. Even the lobby contained a sun-safe vestibule of its own, ensuring that the building’s vampire inhabitants were kept safe from the burning rays. 

“I’ll be seeing you soon, then.” Goodbyes are exchanged and she watches the gumiho exit into the outside world. She stands alone in the lobby after he’s gone, ruminating. 

She has no idea what will come of their little scientific venture. There is a good chance they won’t be able to come up with anything concrete, at least not in time to help the fading fox. But it is preferable to what Minjun had been doing previously, what led him to this dire state. She then thinks of Soa and her brothers. She thinks of Roga and Aeu in their crypts. What would they make of all this? 

They were all inextricably linked, and despite the inherent dangers of their profession, death was not something many of them considered. It’s assumed that they would always be around, that they’d have each other indefinitely. Even Roga and Aeu weren't gone forever, their sleep only a false approximation of death. What lay ahead for Minjun was far more permanent. That is, if they couldn’t come up with a salve. 

The weight of this lays on Danika’s shoulders, but it doesn’t drag her down. She is determined. Duty, loyalty, love. These were the things that helped her survive over the years, and she believes in them now, just as she believes in her own intelligence and the sciences. 

It is the only way.

[danikavasile]

hanxjun​:

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

Still utterly terrified, his damp palms were clasped together back in his lap, fingers tapping off rhythms to the beat of his shaking heartbeat. Her eyes were softer now, but they were still hard, and he found himself still unable to look her in the eyes. Even as she sat across from him, he shifted in his seat. "Well first of all, are—Are there…?” Minjun trailed off, cocking his head as his face screwed up in confusion. “Donated souls…?” The odds of there being such a system seemed implausible. “I mean… if they knew exactly what they were getting into, I think it would be okay but would they… be okay? With that?” It was something to think about; he wasn’t sure how to feel about that aside from the general confusion.

“Illnesses or anything physical don’t have an affect on the taste, I don’t think—but I’ve tasted some bad souls. It wasn’t horrible, by any means, but unpleasant.” It lingered, like off-meat or unripe fruit, but he had never been one to be choosy in such a situation. “That’s really… something to think about.” It was upsetting, mostly, and definitely something he’d think about in his room in the dark hours. But voicing such things probably wouldn’t fare well in terms of his standing with the doctor.

He liked the second option much more, and it showed in the way he perked up, eyes shining. If his tails were out they would be swishing in momentary delight. Maybe he could be useful to her. “It’s been a while, but it’s kind of difficult to forget. I can try my best to help you, even though I don’t know much about science.”

"I suppose donators could be screened for impropriety," Danika speculates, "but I'm not sure how reliable that would be. No matter. I have some contacts in Sweden who are pioneers in the arena of end-of-life care. We can initiate the conversation and go from there." She scribbles this on the notepad as a reminder to make that phone call. She believes her Swedish connections will be overjoyed at the news. It’s a one-of-a-kind circumstance. Danika has the impression that there aren’t a lot of gumiho on the planet. Minjun is the first of his kind that she’s met, and she's been around for a long time.

His change in expression relieves her, as she was worried he’d begin mopping again and she had already reached her quota for mopey men for the day. “Wonderful. We can do some tests at my lab. I work primarily out of Gyeonggi, but I don’t mind coming to the Seoul location if that is more convenient for you.” 

She rips the note from the pad and sticks it to her clipboard. It contains a brief scrawl of their tentative game plan, a last-ditch attempt to rejuvenate the disappearing fox. At that, Danika drags her gaze up and down Minjun’s frame. “Mr. Han, I reiterate, you are looking a little worse for wear. I only say this because I'm sure those in the office will soon notice. It might be a good idea to devise a strategy for dealing with that." She has no idea why she is offering him this advice. What he did outside of her care was none of her business, but she was aware of the emotional strain this was going to place on Soa. The longer he drags this out, keeping it hidden from his loved ones, the more difficult it will be. “People will also begin to question why we are working together, so please inform me what you would like me to tell them when that time comes. It doesn’t have to be now, but consider it for our next meeting.” 

From the depths of her lab coat pocket, she retrieves her cellphone. She had Minjun’s contact information, just as she had the contacts of everyone at Guan Corp, but they had never had a reason to privately engage before this. She sends him an email outlining potential meeting times. She stows the phone back in her pocket.

"I believe we're nearing the end of this appointment. I must admit that it was far more interesting than my usual check-ups," Danika says, "Now, unless you have any further questions, you are free to go. I’ll collect your blood sample at our next meeting. It will be far more useful to us then."

[danikavasile]

omenportenti​:

No forced entry, inconclusive findings in the body, Magic. Magic explained what the norm of the mundane world would never see. Research on the side of a supernatural, allowed for wider questioning. There would never be a statement of impossibility, when there had been no cap in what was possible within their world. Living for a meager eighty years he had learned that well. And as he aged and studied, learned more under those who knew far more, understood far more, he loved the joy that came with unmasking the unknown.

He smiled in the praise, then muffled his laughter at her teasing. He only flashed her his eyes, the smile she knew existed beneath the mask.

Cleansed and free of the gown, his mind was free to wonder and draw possible conclusions. he nodded, curious to see the work that went into the question before them prior. Nodding, he eases closer and pulls her into a hug, “It was my honour to test out my sewing skills before debuting my line of jackets.”, he grinned then released her. “Yes yes, I will have them to you shortly, once I review them and adjust after our discussion today”, he added then pulled his phone free, messaging his driver.

He wanted to hunt, wanted a proper meal. “I’ll let you know about the dinner, and no, noona I already have sewing kit”, he said then kissed her cheek and disappearing down the corridor. With vampric speed, he returns to the kitchenette. He grabs his new dry mug and speeds from the lab out to the parking lot. “She really does have excellent taste. Lucky”, he sang then stepped into the car, driver holding door open then closing it behind him.

[danikavasile]

omenportenti​:

He prohibits his mind from thinking further as the kidneys are weighed. It was easy guess and assume reasons in an autopsy. It could taint the mind if left unchecked, poisoning the truth the body would tell with evidence, he nods, agreeing with her assessment. 

He begins the symmetric bihemispheric, cutting in the brain according to protocol and laying the frontal poles away from where he stood. It was imperative to have clear view of all cortical gyru and sulci of the entire cerebrum. “Meningeal anomalies”, he states, looking through the lobes. “Normal symmetries, no malformations.” He continued the exam, cutting the stem close to the cerebrum. “The substantia nigra is about 2/3 smaller than that of a normal healthy brain.” He eases over for a measurement tool to be precise.

He finishes his exam by stepping aside for Danika to take pictures and review his steps as primary examiner. When she is complete he sets aside the punched tissue for DNA extraction and analysis. “I’m requesting we run a detailed protein extraction. The reduced substantia nigra creates more questions than offered answer, especially with the normal symmetries. The hemispheric distribution must be questioned deeper to see if effects linger in other anatomical regions but give no ready signs.”

Those tests would take a few hours to run and then more to analyze. He was beginning to see why Norway was stumped. “The question of what could have caused the individual poles anomalies, and how to identify it without a full view of possible variables”, he began. He didn’t like how wide of an area they were working with. “We can only hope, analysis from the liver aids. Is there a report from where the body was found? Any samples from the room?”

"His body was discovered in his downtown apartment. His girlfriend found him approximately a day after his death, according to Lividity. He was supine on the floor. The entire apartment was thoroughly searched for fingerprints and any residual DNA, and nothing was found. All windows and the front door were locked from the inside.” It was quite the puzzle. "The other five decedent witches were found in the exact same way: in their homes, dead on the floor, with no signs of forced entry."

She suspects that Souk is correct, and that it will likely take further analysis to fully understand what they were dealing with here. If the cause of death had been so obvious as to be written on the inside of the body, the Oslo lab would not have requested their help. 

They begin to return the organs to the body, setting aside the tissues samples they’d collected for microscopic examination. While Danika is not exactly pleased with these initial results, she knows that the autopsy is only the first step. There is still much work to be done. 

Danika instructs Souk to sew up the body, observing his work. “Beautiful stitching,” she compliments, a rarity for the elder vampire. It took genuine excellence to impress her. “Perhaps your next venture after your master's degree is mortuary school. Or a stint as a tailor.”

After a few closing words, she shuts off the recorder. She calls for the body to be returned to cold storage, meanwhile her and Souk peel off their scrubs, tossing their used gloves and masks into the hazardous waste bin. In the vestibule, they decompress.

“I’ll notify you when the results of the examination are available. I will also correspond with the Oslo Lab with our initial findings and request that they send us their toxicology reports,” says Danika. “Thank you for your assistance today.” She throws a smile at the young Guan. “I also anticipate receiving those rough drafts you’ve promised me. Don’t keep me waiting, kluseczko.”

[danikavasile]

hanxjun​:

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

In all his years, he had never been spoken to in the way he was currently, again, he felt like a child being scolded, except everything she said was true. His face was red with embarrassment, because he could feel that in her eyes, he was just that. A child, whining about the circumstances while unwilling to negotiate a way out of it. The realization hit him quickly, but it hit him hard. He had no conviction. He lived in a grey state, unwilling to live yet unwilling to die, and with no means to an end either way, left with no choice but to suffer the consequences. And when the consequences lived in him everyday, manifesting in pain, he decided to leave it be.

He was dooming himself, and as she said, he was dooming all those that he loved by continuing to live selfishly. That weak spot in the fortress would be found one day, and be used as leverage, or a means of barging in and ruining everything that had been built. Everyone would suffer with him. It made his shaky resolve crumble, fall around him in pieces, and whatever bravado, that false mask of surety that he thought made him brave had truly been nothing, it seemed. It was a fact, and while he was staring it straight in the eyes, it still did not fully register in him.

A thousand years of life, not having been lived in so long, had made him a husk, he realized. Old habits died hard, and it would be a lonely death either way. If he continued on like this, he would be no better than a lonely fox, left for death in the woods, scent of ash and fire choking him.

Again, it was that ultimatum, still waiting, though not patiently. There was no time left to think, he feared. This moment would be a catalyst either way. Anxiety had sweat forming on his brow, and he peered helplessly into the icy sharp blue of her eyes, and was reminded of that memory of the last soul he had taken. Live or die. A decision he had been putting off for so long, and now it felt as though he only had seconds left to choose.

A world without him would still turn, and he had been around for long enough, but not long enough—he still had his get-togethers with Soa laid out in his calendar. Souk needed someone to be there and brave his anger. He was waiting for Roga to awaken so that he could greet his friend again. Sometimes, the best decisions were made under duress, a choice that one had known was always right would be made under pressure.

"I want to live.” Minjun proclaimed, voice panicked. He was not ready to die yet, as much as he had thought that he was. “I still don’t know what to do about the souls, but—I want to live.”

"Okay," Danika says, taking a step back. She drops her radiating intensity. She'd only donned it to get an answer from the evasive man, and she'd obtained it, although it’s not precisely what she was hoping to hear. Not because of the decision he made, but because he remained reticent about possible solutions. But it’s something she can work with. “And I believe you. I can finally hear the conviction in your voice.”

Dragging open a drawer, she retrieves a pad of paper and a pen. “Now we can talk about what can be done.” This was a much more pleasurable spot for Danika to be in. She loved a good problem to sink her teeth into, the more challenging the better. These were the kinds of things that enriched her eternal life. If Minjun's sad puppy (or sad fox, as the case may be) routine had continued for a minute longer, she might have bit his head off. She despises the victim mentality, particularly when it comes from a man.

"What are your thoughts on a donated soul?" She inquires, scrawling on the pad. "That is to say, someone who offers their soul willingly for your consumption. Does illness have an effect on taste? This could be an interesting option for patients with terminal illnesses as well. Many people are changing their minds about end-of-life care, and some believe that electing to die via euthanasia or another manner of assisted dying is a form of reclaiming their agency.”

"There's also the option of looking for a soul alternate, perhaps on top of suitable supplements. I'd have to do more research on the subject. The soul is such an enigmatic substance and science has yet to unravel its mysteries. Or, in the case of human science, even prove that it exists. Perhaps you can assist me in this matter. Given that you have previously consumed souls, you must recall some of their characteristics."

[danikavasile]

omenportenti​:

He says nothing, just smiles a knowing smiles. Bloodstains were a hazard. He remembered the collar of a jumper being stained yet finding it in his closet a few days later. He had wondered if magically stain remedies were used. Or did they just find another and replace it. He would have to ask his lead maid. Yet while he says nothing he notes the location of his new mug.

The younger vampire can’t help but grin as they scrub, then don their gowns and gloves. He is excited, shamelessly bursting with glee. An autopsy of a witch was not what he expected in his visit that evening but what a welcomed surprise. He glanced over the body looking for abrasions, possible wounds and anything that might lead to the answer of his death. As she speaks for recorded notation, he lifts the left hand, looking at the fingernails then tips, looking for scorch marks that could be backfire from a spell, then the palm and wrist.

He feels the side of the left thigh, but the response is inconclusive, it had been far too long. Around he walks, and repeats the exam to the right hand, nothing to be found but calluses, his finger passes over each, about 2 mm. “Extended use of an object in his right hand, subject was right handed. Calluses aren’t pronounced, the activity happened repeatedly close to his death.”

Inconclusive, he marks in his mind as their eyes meet. 

He takes the scalpel, starting his incision from the right shoulder to below the breast bone, then another on the left shoulder, carried down to the pubic bone. He is careful to avoid the navel, while keeping stable force on the scalpel. His path was straight, deep enough to cut through the abdominal wall. A faint smell raises through the incision. Complete, he sets the scalpel on the tray aside the body and opens the flaps of flesh, covering the face. He steps aside for Danika to examine the ribcage before it is sawed open.

He takes note of the colors of the organs, lingering on the heart before he removes it. “The coloring of his heart and and lungs are peculiar, dissection should offer more insight.” Even with extended deep freeze, it was too off to not be questioned. The lungs are next, then liver and kidneys before all the organs lay on the autopsy table. 

“There is a strange scent emanating from the kidneys”, he says before looking to her to remove the brain. 

Danika takes up the bone saw. This was her favorite part. As she cuts into the ribcage, she meditates on how far pathology has come in her lifetime. She remembers with fondness the first autopsy she ever witnessed, and then the first autopsy she ever participated in, both under the expert tutelage of Babushka Kriska. Her love for anatomy was born in those Russian backwoods at the tender age of fourteen. After all these years, she can recall the old hedge witch and her cobblestone cottage of mysteries with perfect clarity. She often thinks of Babushka Kriska when performing her autopsies. If only she could show her how far the science had come, how far her little vampirina had come. The closest Danika had gotten was when she returned to the site where the witch’s cottage once stood, and to the tree where she’d been hung, leaving her offerings at the roots of the ancient Aspen. It was insufficient. It would never be enough to repay the old woman for the tremendous gift she had given her. 

“Hmm. Indeed,” she concedes, taking a closer look at the heart and lungs. “The exterior of the lungs have an almost imperceptible tinge of amber. A sample of tissue will be obtained for closer examination.” 

More hacking is required to gain access to the brain, and the vibrating saw fills the room with its loud buzzing as she breaches the cranium. The brain is removed and placed onto the tray. Meticulously, the pair go about weighing each of the organs, sans the stomach and intestinal tracks, in order of heaviest to lightest. Everything is standard until they get to the the kidneys, which feel off even during transfer to the scale. “4,500 grams,” she says, “About three times the weight of the average pair of kidneys.” Between this and the peculiar odors, the story is starting to take shape. 

Danika anticipates them spending a significant amount of time analyzing the internal structures. The data she received from Oslo, as well as the reports from other comparable autopsies, seemed to indicate that the majority of the anomalies were hidden within the fleshy creases of the organs.

“Assistant Guan will now perform symmetric bihemispheric cutting to the brain,” she instructs.

[danikavasile]

hanxjun​:

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

"I figured as much.” He sighed.

One day, he would have to face the truth of it all. He couldn’t keep hiding it from himself and from everyone else. He was a gaping weak spot in the fortress that was the Guan family empire. He was not looking at things objectively, merely living in his own selfish delusions, he knew that. In their mind, he was keeping the Guans safe, better he be at their side than someone else was how he thought of it.

There was a shift in the air. And there was an ultimatum, hanging on a thread right in his face, like a pendulum swinging back and forth, held between the fingers of the elusive doctor. He had expected her to let him down easy, and she had, but he still hadn’t been able to handle it.

“I—” Her asking had him lost in another bout of memory; when he was young, just after his village had burned and he had gone about gallivanting as some Robin Hood-type of vigilante, hopping from village to village. Naive, young, full of rage. He only had that one tail back then, the pain of another growing just beginning at that time. He remembered briefly the face of a corrupted lord, who had pilfered the meager earnings of the village people and withheld provisions for compensation.

(His soul had tasted exceptionally bitter, and he had been messy and cruel in his theft of the man’s energy, watching the light in the man’s eyes fade while his bead glowed blue. He had held it in his hand for a while, twisting and turning the thing every which way, watching the way the light reflected off that energy like waves in the early morning. “Pretty,” he had mumbled to himself. But the taste in his mouth had turned sweet, and he had turned, meeting the eyes of the man’s wife, pushing open the door to his chamber. She had been ill, he had seen the gauntness in her cheeks and the way she hobbled over to the man, until she was crawling to him. Did any one life mean more than another? He had wondered suddenly, having snuck out of the low window and watching her through the partition. He had always felt guilty for eating, first from watching his mother struggle, portioning out the hunts she would go on so as to not draw suspicion, and then having lived in a world of dog eat dog, everyone fighting to live, just as he.)

“I tried something similar when I was younger, but I had thought that it was not fair, that one person died while I continued to live.” He mumbled, so quiet it could almost have been for himself.

He looked up, startled at the intensity in the doctor’s eyes. The doctor had managed to strike fear into him so easily, and he shifted in his seat. “Sorry, of course." 

"You are a gumiho. You must feed on souls. That is an essential part of your existence. A non-negotiable," she states flatly. "You come here, speaking in vague terms about your symptoms, seeking assistance in dealing with the consequences of your own actions, which, might I add,” her brow darkens, “you are not even man enough to admit." 

“I assure you that your rectitude is not lost on me, Mr. Han.” Her heels tap against the tile as she closes the gap between them. “While I may not share your perspective on death, I can respect your commitment to your personal ethics; what I cannot respect is your utter lack of conviction. I know that you're not inept, and that you understand there is no real cure outside of consuming souls, which you seem determined not to do. Perfectly fine. But do not play the victim. Not in my office.”

"You and I have been on this planet far too long to despair over its unfairness. At this age, you must realize that there are only two options: get over it or make it fair. If you want to survive, you must feed on souls or find a suitable replacement. However, as far as I can tell, you appear perfectly content to waste away in voluntary solitude and misery, as if it were some noble act of self-sacrifice. There is no such thing. From the moment we are born, we take. We take because that is what it means to be alive. You cannot live a life free of consequence or harm. Do you believe that your inevitable demise will not harm your loved ones? Is this yet another sacrifice you’re willing to make?” 

“I'm not trying to persuade you in either direction. If you truly believe that you have no right to take someone's life, that is your prerogative. And we both know that unless you find alternate nourishment, you will die. Is this what you're seeking? An end to the guilt and pain of existence? If that's the case, I'd prefer you tell me now so we can devise an adequate plan to manage your suffering as much as possible before you pass. Or would you like to live? And I don’t mean like this,” she gestures towards him with a hand, “this is pathetic. This is not living.” She bends over slightly so that their gazes would be level. Her face is mere inches from his. 

“Make your choice, Mr. Han. Make your choice and own it.”

[danikavasile]

omenportenti​:

He retrieves the seconds, filling her mug first then his own, hand passing over the surface. The design was growing on him. He thought of taking one home with him, but he had carried nothing to hide it in. Mischief crept into his expression as lifted the mug to his lips. The mention of a crypt makes him chuckle, coffin sleeping a practice he only partook in, in long transcontinental flights. He hated the idea of resting and waking to the sun’s brightness in his eyes, uv protected windows or not.

“No, noona I don’t think they will have any crypt worthy of you at the art show. I will have short list of artisans sent to you. You would need a custom pair”, he added before drinking from his new mug. The image of his parents asleep in their crystal coffins beneath the family estate flashes into his mind. He empties the mug and swallows the image down with it.

He sets the glass on the table, fingers passing over its rim. It was going with him, he just had to time it right. He listened as she spoke, the descriptors creating an image in his head. He agreed, knowing information sharing and a degree of cooperation was necessary within their community.

“A dead witch from Oslo”, he began. “A suspiciously murdered with from Oslo. I’m curious to see what remains in the tissue. Magic, even for how elusive its practitioners claim it to be, elusive to understand in a metaphysical way, it leaves signs in the body. I’m very curious to see what’s stumping Norway. We’ll probably learn something knew of magic and its users”, he smiled wide, ever eager to gain more knowledge.

He raised his hands up, “let’s get to the scalpels”, he stated with a grin then stepped to the door with accelerated speed, “brains before height”, he added teasingly.

She smiles at his eagerness. Making quick work of the second cup, she licks a smudge of blood from her lips and gathers up the two mugs. “Cheeky,” she deadpans, but there’s a ghost of a smile on her face. On their way to the lab, Danika makes a pit stop at a small kitchenette, in which she rinses out the mugs in the sink. “The blood leaves such a dreadful stain,” she explains. Flipping them upside down, she sets them to dry on the mat. 

In the vestibule, they prepare for the autopsy. Hands are washed, scrubs are slipped into, and gloves are applied. Danika puts in a call to request that the body be removed from cold storage. By the time they are suited up, the corpse is laid out for them on the stainless steel table. The body is nude, grey-white and rigid, rigor mortis long taking hold. 

“Let’s begin with the external examination,” she says, voice slightly muffled behind a face mask. She and Souk hone in on the usual ‘hot spots,’ searching the cold flesh for any abrasions, bruises, or distinguishing marks. “The decedent is a male, age thirty-four, race white, species witch,” She recites this to the overhead recorder. “Brown hair.” She pushes open each eyelid in turn. “Blue eyes.” Aside from the usual hallmarks of death, the corpse appears pristine. Even the facial expression is at ease. He very well could have died peacefully in his sleep.

“There is a medium sized tattoo below the left ribcage,” she says, “It reads: Det er ingen større kjedsomhet enn perfeksjon in Norwegian. I believe this translates to: There is no greater bore than perfection. Which is, to my knowledge, a quote from The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell.” That’s interesting, she thinks. This book and its subsequent movie adaption had allegedly inspired the Zodiac killings in America during the late 1960s. The plot concerns a Russian aristocrat who hunts men on an isolated island. Man is the most dangerous animal of all to kill.

"Pay close attention to any unusual smells," she instructs Souk. "On occasion, certain dark magic emits a sulfuric odor."

Despite the fact that she had detected rigor the moment she saw the corpse, she goes through the motions of bending elbows and attempting to open the jaw. Stiff. "Rigor is present." She gives the body another thorough sweep. “The decedent is well developed and well-nourished with no external injuries or lacerations.” She meets Souk’s eye-line and gives a knowing nod. 

“End of external examination,” Danika announces, “To begin the internal examination, Assistant Guan will now make the inaugural Y-incision.” She hands him the scalpel.

[danikavasile]

hanxjun​:

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

The doctor was right: it was a matter of if, not when, when it came to the Guans. It should have been obvious, given the fact that even Minjun had a hard time telling them no. But he gnawed at his bottom lip, worrying it until it threatened to bleed. "Is there any way to… omit them from finding that bit of information?” Medical malpractice, maybe. Minjun felt horrible for asking as soon as the question left his mouth, and he shook his head. “I apologize… And besides, it’d be impossible. Nevermind.”

And then the main cause of his concern was brought up. “No ethical cures”. He knew she was trying to be gentle when dropping that bomb on him, but it felt just like that. It landed square in the chest and rested heavily in his bones. He knew that that would be the case, but hearing it aloud was… any sort of hope he’d strived for upon meeting the doctor dissipated. He felt disappointed. Not at the doctor, but just… disappointed. “That’s what I expected.” No emotion leaked from his voice, but it was still quiet. Minjun felt like a child, pouting when they couldn’t get what they wanted. It was ridiculous. It still hurt him regardless.

Waving a hand, he scrunched his nose, trying his best to be unaffected. He wanted to go home. Lay down and watch Tim meander around his house. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore, thinking about it made his head hurt. Everything ached. It was his own fault. “Right.” Hypotheticals… he could work under the delusion of a “maybe” or a “what if”. It would make him more honest. Depersonalize, rationalize, stare into the face of death and give it a name. Was that what he was doing? He shook his head. Where would he start on his made-up list? If he had to really think about it, it would look something like:

1.) The headaches. It had been a long time having to live with those. Not the worst thing to deal with but constant. 2.) Lack of energy. His legs felt like logs and his knees constantly felt like they were about to give out. He could barely sleep, but still… that shouldn’t affect him the way it did. 3.) His throat. It was a strange, indescribable feeling. Not burning and not aching, but feeling empty. Sort of in the same vein as rattling around the glass bead in an empty bottle of Ramune. If it also felt like choking on something that went down the wrong pipe.

And then the other things. The constant feeling of cold, the fainting. Those things, the latter of which he hesitated to add to his list. But they were still discussing in hypotheticals. He did not want anyone thinking a soft wind would knock him over—that was the last thing he needed.

But in the end, it would be all for naught anyways. As she said, there was no good, clean way of fixing what was going on. “It’s all a bit hopeless, isn’t it?” Minjun snorted. “But I’ve lasted this long. So, I guess now, with your direction, I could find a way to mitigate the symptoms?” He would not even begin to think of entertaining a route in which he took the easy way out.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

"It is impossible," she repeats. And that's all there is to it. Danika isn't a stickler for the rules (how could she be? She actively breaks Korean law whenever it suites her), but when it comes to her job, she is unyielding. Especially in this case, where she believes he is being unreasonable. He has to realize that he is far more than a regular Guan group employee. He is Roga's best friend, his closest confidant outside of his own blood. While the goal of these check-ups is to ensure that employees are healthy enough to perform their duties, it isn’t so simple for Minjun. While Danika is bound by patient-client confidentiality, she couldn't help but think that by keeping this information private, he is punishing more than himself.

She is becoming increasingly irritated by his evasion of the truth. His refusal to be up-front about what is wrong with him is especially frustrating, but she retains a placid expression. She despises self-pity in general but finds it especially distasteful on an elder like Minjun. They are both far too old for this despairing attempt at sainthood; martyrdom is for the young. 

Danika may be too hardened, too clinical; she knows this. But she's always considered her existence to be both a blessing and a curse, but no more than any other being. The benefits and drawbacks of vampirehood had to be balanced, and accepting these benefits necessitated recognizing and learning to live with the limitations. And if she is ever unable to deal with these disadvantages (whether physically or mentally), it would almost certainly spell the end of her existence. There are hard decisions to be made in such dire circumstances. While Minjun may believe he has made his decision, Danika could not agree. He is simply putting off the inevitable. 

"It is only hopeless if you allow it to be," she says. "Your pain management options range from deep breathing exercises to the use of biofeedback. We may also discuss the boundaries of your ethics and where exceptions may be permitted. Would you object to eating, say, a serial killer? Is your aversion to consuming higher life forms a hard and fast rule?" 

After a brief moment, she reaches over and switches off the computer monitor. She rises from the stool, gazing at him with meaningful intensity. "Mr. Han, may I speak with you candidly for a minute?"

[jeniferprince]

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[danikavasile]

hanxjun​:

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

"Well—I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?” Despite his question, he knew that she was right. It was the entire basis of why he’d even (finally) stepped foot into her office. But the fact of the matter was that he was scared. Both at the thought of dying when he’d just started getting used to actually living, but fearing having to come to the realization that he’d have to take lives in order to preserve his own. He could deal with the lack of energy, the ache in his bones and the fire alighted in his throat if that meant he wouldn’t have to sneak around in the dark stealing souls and energy from innocent people.

“W-wait. Who can see them? My records?” A shock of cold shot straight down his spine at the mention of putting it on his record. He didn’t know who had access to the records, but more likely than not the Guans and the other members of the council would be able to search through them…? He could care less about seeming weak, but thinking of Soa finding out about his sorry state made his chest tighten.

Not even Roga had known… his dear friend, whom he trusted with more than his life, Minjun had not even been brave enough to tell him before he went to sleep— Minjun’s hands clenched, fingers twisting as he massaged them, trying to comfort himself in any small way.

“Hypothetically… if we were to go about fixing me… what would you do?” A blood test was nothing. It was the everything else after that made him agonize, eyes full of fear; a ghost of a memory, watching a village burn… that sort of fear.

Danika observes him for a moment in silence. In the privacy of her mind, her professionalism slips and she allows herself to see him for what he truly is: a tired, old man. An ancient soul. Not much different than herself in many ways. It didn't matter that they were immortal beings or that they did not physically age; time takes its toll in other ways. 

"Only medical professionals," she says, "though I won't lie and say those at the highest levels of Guan corporate couldn't find a way to gain access if they really wanted to. As you're probably aware, the Guan siblings are rarely told no."

The fear in his eyes holds her attention, and her own senses go into primal alert. Pupils dilating, ears pricked to pick up on the smallest of sounds. It was the kind of organic, animal fear that struck the deepest pits of her being, told her that something was coming and they needed to brace themselves for impact. She swallows it down as best she can. "Hypothetically, it'd be easier for me to answer that if you tell me your symptoms. Hypothetical symptoms," she corrects herself. She usually didn't care for these types of games, especially when she was working, but this was the one time she was willing to play.

"I do not wish to raise your hopes, Mr Han," she continues. "Fix... is not a word I like to use when discussing what is clearly a chronic issue. We can try to mitigate symptoms. Manage pain. If we're talking about what I believe we are, I am not sure there is an 'ethical' cure. I am sure that is not what you want to hear. I'm sorry."