#mechanical equilibrium

[truphysics]

Equilibrium

Introduction Equilibrium is a central concept in physics and chemistry, referring to the state of a system in which all competing influences are balanced. In a state of equilibrium, a system experiences no net change and appears to be static. However, this does not mean that nothing is happening, just that the various forces or changes balance each other out. Types of Equilibrium Static…

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[fleshforsaken]

"I don't understand... You made a mistake?" The boy takes hold of Viktor's hand, stopping him from stroking his hair any further. "I-is Papa mad at me too?" He asks like a revelation as his upper body leans away from his father. "What did you do?!" He raises his voice over Viktor's quiet, near pathetic admittance. The demand is made out of anger and desperation. "Papa never gets mad... I don't believe you." His voice wavers as if he would cry, but no tears could come even if he welcomed them.

[cont. from here]

The child’s anger cuts him nearly as deep as Shen’s had. Viktor turns his head, unable to look his son in the eye as he draws back the unwanted hand. He grits his teeth, suppressing all the hurt and all the doubt, shoving it down until all he feels is the comfortable void of numbness that has been his shelter ever since Stanwick’s betrayal.

“Yes,” he says, the strength of his voice belying none of the bitter self-loathing still churning in his stomach. “Yes, I made a mistake. When I--” He falters, just for a moment. “When I gave you your new eyes, Shen... disapproved. He hadn’t seen fit to tell me until after the fact, but evidently the augments have made it so you would be unable to continue his work.” 

Not that he had asked the boy if he even wanted to become the next Eye of Twilight, of course. But that’s neither here nor there.

Viktor threads his hand through his own hair now, subconsciously trying to calm himself further. “His anger was entirely towards me,” he assures the boy, as much as it pains--as unpleasant as it is to admit so. “I should have... known better.”

His breath comes shakily through his nostrils, and his composure breaks. “If you wish to go back home,” he says, his voice tired and strained, “I would gladly pay your way. I’m sure Shen would be glad to see you again. But I think it would be best if I did not come with you--not to the temple, at least.”

(Viktor knows full well that he is being a coward, avoiding a confrontation that may well never happen, given the near-inhuman impassivity that makes Shen Shen. But he would rather be a coward than a failure.)

[fleshforsaken]

"Father... When can we go back home? Why hasn't Papa come to visit? Is it because Zaun is so far away from Ionia?" The child wedges himself in between Viktor and his work, propping himself onto his lap comfortably. "It's fun here but... But I miss home." The light in his augmented eyes begin to dim as he rests his head in his arms atop the table. "I miss them." The boy states with a sigh. "Don't you?"

Send me Anons as my muse’s child(ren)!

For a long, long moment, Viktor is silent as death. He folds his human arm around his son’s waist, staring out the window and into the thick haze of Zaun’s smog.

He considers lying. Tell the boy he’s made plans to go to Ionia as soon as he’s finished the project splayed across the table. Tell him Papa has been too busy with his duties as the Eye, that he receives elegantly-scripted letters from him weekly. Tell him all is well, that Papa loves them both as he always has.

Something in his chest crumples, and he casts the idea aside. The child deserves better than that. (He likewise deserves better than the father he has, but there’s little Viktor can do to mend that now.)

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Your Papa and I are...” Viktor turns away, though he knows the boy cannot see his pained expression. “When you and I came here, he and I were not on the best of terms. And as the rift between us was of my making, I’ve chosen to wait for him to approach me first, of his own volition.” A sigh passes his lips. “Time will tell how long that might take.” 

Viktor cards his mechanical fingers through his son’s hair, careful not to let the joints snag on the dark strands. They sit in melancholy silence for some time, until the boy sits up to curl up against Viktor’s chest. The Herald holds his son close and tries to keep the fractured pieces of his heart from breaking apart any further.

“I miss them too,” he murmurs.

[fleshforsaken]

Shen

Viktor considers the question for a long moment as he polishes the surface of his violin. The relationship between himself and the Eye of Twilight is… difficult to define, mostly because the two men have never bothered to try. To be sure, there is one, but neither of them have ever put a single word to it.

On the one hand, it is technically simply the companionship between a surgeon and his patient, a researcher and his test subject. On the surface, at least. But on the other hand, a surgeon does not often spend late nights discussing ethics and philosophy with his patient--nor does he spend late nights with his patient doing... well, anything, but especially not--

He clears his throat. “It is... complicated,” the Herald settle some on eventually, a faint laugh lighting his tone. “I could likely spend hours explaining. You may have better luck asking Shen himself.”

[fleshforsaken]

♨

Viktor has been working long enough for his eyes to start aching. Schematic upon schematic upon schematic, predictions and prototypes and flaws and failures, rolled up and tossed in a bin until it overflows onto the floor. The children are going to trip on all the paper if they come in here. Grumbling to himself, Viktor pushes his chair away from the desk and starts cleaning up.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong--

The spinal cord is delicate. The greatest scientific mind, the greatest surgeon in Valoran, is reluctant to work with the spine, because if he puts his scalpel a hair too far in one direction, his patient is paralyzed for life.

And yet, for some reason that only the man himself and his stars know, Shen trusts Viktor to operate on his. 

No matter how many blueprints he drafts, no matter how many incisions he plans, Viktor is not satisfied. If he is going to operate, it needs to be perfect. And perfection is just barely, barely out of his reach. It’s infuriating.

Letting out a frankly feral noise of frustration, Viktor incinerates the paper--and the wastebin besides--with a single death ray. The remains of his blueprints crackle and smoke quietly, and he glares at them as if that will make them disappear entirely.

It is, of course, at this point when he hears the door open. Immediately, Viktor straightens, side-stepping in front of the bin to hide what he’s done. He squares his shoulders, regarding his... Shen with a level gaze. The ninja stands tall, head tilted just slightly to one side. In his hands, a small cup.

Viktor swallows, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the smoldering trash bin before gently toeing it to the side and crossing the room. His lips tug at the smallest of smiles as he takes the steaming cup in his mechanical hand. With his human hand, he touches a finger to a small depression on the side of Shen’s mechanical mask, causing it to retract.

“Thank you,” the Herald says, inclining his head. His third hand arches over, taking gentle hold of Shen’s chin.

Even after all this time, Viktor isn’t quite sure what they are, but a grateful kiss just feels natural these days.

[fleshforsaken]

heart-to-heartless

(closed rp with tauntingshadows)

-

Ionia is the picture of absolute serenity. From his lab, Viktor can see a forest in the midst of spring bloom, smell the budding flowers through his window, hear the sweet song of dawn chorus when he rises in the morning. The fog of Zaun is a memory here, a nightmare that can no longer trouble his lungs. He feels almost at peace, for once in his life. He works in the quiet of early morning, as ever, his window open to the cool air. This is a place of healing, and he despises his contemporaries for trying to destroy it. Few people know him by name here, and even fewer recognize him on the street. Unmasked, he is all but anonymous, drawing curious glances not for his reputation but for the shape and color of his eyes. No one looks close enough to see his scars, the glints of steel under his sleeves. Even a criminal, he has realized, can find peace here. Amongst the trees, he is not the Machine Herald. He is a healer, a doctor, the personal surgeon to the Eye of Twilight. Viktor would wonder if the people outside these doors question the true nature of the relationship they share if he knew what it was himself. This is a place of healing, he tells himself, even as he wipes the leftover residue of a human eyeball from his surgical table. The eyes themselves remain in a sealed jar, suspended in formaldehyde. He will dispose of them later, when the children are asleep. He is just starting to fold his rag and retrieve a new one when there is a knock on the door. Somewhat startled from his thoughts, he straightens. "Come in," he calls out.