@radiotyrant // continued
It wasn't that Percy enjoyed this. That would be a lie. Percy did not care for the capturing and what could easily be considered torture of those whom he found who could survive radiation sickness. He didn't abhor it, though, either. No, it was something else entirely. Percy was simply... Indifferent to it. It was messy, foul work, but it was work that needed to be done. There was lots of work that needed to be done to keep people alive, you have to understand this.
Percy Carrard had two main priorities left in life. Keeping his dear friend, Henri Voltiere alive was the first and finding a way to cure radiation sickness as a whole was second. Henri was first, as he always would be, because they were the most dear of companions, or... They had been, until Henri's mind left him. Still, he remained at the top of the list without question. Due to the way his mind was now, though, Henri was wont to wander off when Percy or Percy's travelling companion could not keep an eye on him, and there was plenty of danger to wander into. Thus, the need to be able to cure radiation sickness.
When he crossed the second thing off his to-do list, the third thing, by default of course, was to find a way to reproduce the anti-psychotics Henri had been taking prior to this mess to bring his friend back to him. How Percy hated that that had to be so low on his list of priorities, he knew Henri was suffering, his heart ached with each cry that came from his lips but... But if Henri were to become sick from the fallout that rested around every corner, Percy was not sure he'd recover. It was all such a mess.
The man, the patient he currently had, was an interesting case, at least. Percy wasn't sure what he was. Inhuman, that was clear, but of what type of inhuman, he hadn't yet been able to decipher. How odd, too, that the patient had started to change, physically change, as he recovered. All very interesting, all things that Percy noted down, all things that he took into careful consideration as he pondered over just what to do next.
It had been two and a half weeks, and the patient was recovering. Although it took longer than what Percy would have liked, he still had recovered-- with minimal intervention at that. Most of the time Percy would have tried to feed him, but the still healing bite wound on his arm was enough to put him off of doing that. Still! The patient survived. It was impressive. Percy needed to know more.
The doctor had precious few supplies to work with, many of which he was employing now. The surgical scrubs and cloth mask that covered his face could at least be washed and reused. So could the cap he wore over his messy, dark hair. His cracked glasses obscured his dark blue eyes, leading to an all around otherworldly appearance.
"s'il vous plaît, aidez-moi ! je vous ai voué ma vie — et je le ferais encore; s'il vous plaît, ne me laissez pas mourir ici!" The voice from the other room, the broken, strained, wailing voice from the other room. Over and over, and Percy, who cannot not be pained by his dear friend's distress, glances away from the patient and towards the adjacent room, separated by walls, tarps, and little else.
The voice keeps on begging for help, and Percy forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Until his travelling companion returns, Henri will have to wait until this procedure is complete. The procedure is for Henri in the end, after all.
He watches the patient with a clinical eye, watches him struggle, listens to what he has to say, and feels only the indifference of someone who needs to do something unpleasant and has given up resisting the work ahead. There is a wheeling tray that holds surgical instruments on it, which Percy pulls alongside him as he approaches the patient, frowning under his mask at him.
"this will be far easier if you don't struggle, you understand." He speaks in the one of someone practiced, someone who has done this, someone who is resigned to their work. One gloved hand picks up a pair of scissors, the other pull Alastor's shirt up slightly, and then Percy begins to cut through the fabric with practiced ease.
In some ways, at least in tone and in some other way Percy can't yet place, Alastor reminds him of his travelling companion. He squints a little, trying to put his finger on it. "i can't sedate you for this process, i don't have much left in stock."
It isn't an apology, it's simply informative. His voice carries accent, French, just like the words being now sobbed out in the next room over.
"i will try and be quick about this. but it will be easier for us both if you, ah... do not struggle. yes?"
