#wssi

[sacredflamingart]

have a serving of spaghetti

[the-uptake]

Only the Vital Ones

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 3. Second chapter currently MIA: Go to first. Go to next. (Heavily revised 2019.10.28: Decided the arts and crafts time belonged in Ch3 instead of Ch10, and also consolidated all the chapter parts into one post rather than two.) TW: Body horror, substance use, alcohol, dysphoria, gore, societal cruelty mention. While ‘Choly tries to make peace with everything he’s done, Augen tries to make peace with his humanity.

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“In those days, desires weren’t allowed to become reality. So, fantasy was substituted for them–films, books, pictures. They called it ‘art.’ But, when your desires become reality, you don’t need fantasy any longer, or art.”

–Amyl Nitrate, “Jubilee”

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Well, shit. There it went again. Or, didn't.

Wearing jaded fatigue, a dark tank, and orange leggings, 'Choly inspected his physiognomy in the bathroom mirror, and determined nothing freshly indicative of his character. He tugged a bit at the fold of cheek skin sagging loose from his chin by several inches, drew it this way and that, and resigned to the recourse of excision. Two years ago, the spirit of verbot chasing would have precipitated this metric of flesh, distortions of anatomy from disguises tacked in place with piercing and stitches, and contortions to slip undetected where he did not belong. His distracted fingertips tracted the series of scars in turn as though lines on a written page. He knew their stories, and compared to them, these recent additions felt more like phrases and incomplete thoughts at best.

He sniveled at the impotence of having had to make such a superficial adjustment for sake of his own clumsiness, rather than in the aftermath of risky enterprises. He'd tried several times to contact the Tellurides after the riots and subsequent quarantine, and he knew in his gut that all three of them had gotten walled up with the rest of the Quarter. And the Geek, and Chalcedony, too, for all he knew. His only solace came in knowing that at least his parents had moved back in together downstate before things had gotten especially hairy.

The dialogue of his connective tissues wove a potent metaphor of collapse. The ragged scoring along his right temporal line. The suture at his right jawline. The bright constellation of pockmarks starboard of his face. The long crease along the left cheek from the lacrimal fossa terminating vaguely somewhere along his trachea. And these comprised just the current superficial evidence of his series of necessary facial abjurations, a road map of scansion and diagrammed sentences etching every inch of him. Though his face served as the cover to his metahuman narrative, in this sense his armpits, sides, and thighs had the most to tell of any part of him. His skin functioned more as a roll than as sheets. Though within limitation, he would simply continue pulling to produce more once time obsoleted the current space. But, therein lay the problem: There was just... so much of it... Still, graceless and imprecise, he managed by hand with the most rudimentary of tools and technique. Nearly apologetic of its entropy, apologetic tissue permitted the adjustments of his detached whimsy. For as much as he could fault himself, he just as much blamed the state of his skin. He was little more than the decrepit auteur of a decrepit opus. He'd lost the sense of his audience, but still he persisted.

So, he pulled the craft knife and needle and thread from the medicine cabinet, and his reflection smiled in intent apathy. Isopropyl alcohol sterilized the lingering must of dust and waxed mint. He pinched the sagging tissues taut with index and middle fingers, and steadied his grip with his thumb against his jaw. Then with a single stuttered breath he drew the blade over each side of the fold of skin, several times, with the finesse of a butcher. Experience had trained his heavy-handedness not to dip deeper than subcutaneous layers: a deeply scarred platysma still skewed his expression of melancholy. Only occasionally bothering to blot away excess blood with a black hand towel, he worked boredly at the newly forming ligature becoming adjunct to the much deeper scar, drawing the cheap cotton thread through the pinched raw edges of tissue with not so much as a wince. Once finished, he nipped the thread with the craft knife. Inspecting his craftsmanship, he drew a lone fingertip along the puckering edges now drawn taut, and licked the blood off in satisfaction. A short ache-twinge tugged his lip into a sneer as he rinsed the towel and implements. With an unceremonious wipe, he cleaned the blood off the counter where the fold of skin had patiently lain.

The ex-stalker Wolframite took the piece with him out of the bathroom on a fresh towel. He fished out the aluminum box from the very back of one of his nightstand drawers, and with it and the flesh he rounded the full-height open-frame modular shelving unit that divided the hall track from the kitchen to sit at the brushed steel table. Beside the box lay his coffee mug, a quaint butcher paper and twine parcel, a paring knife, and his reader on a kickstand. With the apartment to himself for the day, he'd been surveying some of the writing pieces in his drafts, only to absently tug at his face yet lacking the lucidity imparted by caffeine. He rubbed again at his marred face in a dull restlessness, his hands dipping beneath his horn-rimmed glasses. He flinched when he grazed his cheek suture and stood, to pace an uneven gait in the narrow track the length of the apartment which functioned not unlike a hallway.

He appreciated that Cecil remained oblivious to a majority of his habituations. Or at least, he appreciated the impression of Cecil's obliviousness to them.

He returned to the kitchen and pour himself a fresh cup of black coffee from the carafe Cecil had brewed before leaving for work, and he sat again. Then, he snipped the string on the box and unfurled its wrappings. His glasses came off and lay across the table from him as he continued massaging at his cheeks and chin and neck marbled with errant scars and bad grammar. He flicked up the messaging app frame and tapped Augen's active username with a sigh.

Rather than initiate conversation, he took a sip from his mug, then produced from the small wax-coated cardstock box a decently-sized chalky pastel ball. He then smoothed out the parchment with a detached free hand, swallowed the mouthful of coffee, and set down the Confec bonbon atop it with the other. The ball bore a mealy consistency somewhere between soap and fudge. A quarter-inch butt fell to the paper, and he stuck it in his mouth to let the hyssop-like bouquet melt on his tongue while he sank into his chair and hesitated on the various sampling of tasks on the table before him.

He only ever noticed the smell upon first opening the metal box, somewhere between wet and musty, but not quite rotten. He took out the jar. Several pale, murky, greyish things floated near the bottom in the turbid liquid. With a long breath through his nostrils, he took it to the sink to drain, collecting the material in his fingers and rinsing them under running water. Tossing pieces that met his satisfaction onto a fresh black towel on the table, he returned the other pieces to the bottom of the jar, adding the newest piece of flesh. The box fashioned a kit of sorts, and from it he used a set of measuring spoons to add two different white powders to the jar. After filling it up with fresh water and tightening the lid, he shook it vigorously, then set it in front of him on the table to sit and dully watch the alum and ammonia salts dissolve around the hunks like a revolting snowglobe.

As the gloss washed over him, the Wolframite pulled the folded up towel from the top of the stack in the box and set it beside the still wet pieces he'd separated from the jar. He unfolded the older towel and detachedly patted at the material that it had contained. The scrap of fresh leather, roughly now a four inch square, was sufficiently dry, so he produced the patchwork from the very bottom of the box, and unfolded three and a half years' work in his lap. Saliva stuck in his throat as his hands ran over it. Each patch bore its own unique scars from all previous excisions, a continuum of every time before it since October 2052. There were enough pieces sewn together that he couldn't recall everything they had to say anymore. He used the thin cord and upholstery needle from the box to tie the patch onto the edge he thought its shape fit best against.

Why do I do this with the pieces? After a pause trying to form an answer, 'Choly's shoulders rolled in a noncommittal shrug. "Well what else am I supposed to do with them?"

It had always felt so uniquely deranged and grotesque to simply throw human flesh in the trash.

He stood and laid the full thing out in the floor in front of the daybed. He hadn't unfurled it in entirety in months, and the visual of the sheer amount of skin which comprised it overwhelmed him. He estimated nearly two square meters lay before him where he knelt, though his estimations were exactly just that, never having worked in any deliberate proportion, just adding on wherever he grabbed the stuff each time. The tapestry was so disfigured, so monstrous, so revolting. Throttled in the dialectic of Caliban, he recoiled at his inability to do anything but approximate himself to this thing he'd fabricated. And just as abruptly, his only recourse was to get rid of it.

A cold chill cut through the veneer of his slice of Confec. He couldn't bring himself to dismantle the thing. Instead, he quickly folded it back up and returned it to the box beside the haphazard tanning kit, then returned the box to its hiding place in his nightstand.

He'd figure out what to do with it later.

Knowing he was too far gone to write, he woke up his reader screen hoping Augen was still around to distract him from himself.

ketherphorbia: you’re up early 9augen: funny, i was just about to message you. not at the library today? ketherphorbia: no, and i’m not getting anywhere with what i was trying to do so you have my full attention 9augen: how does meeting up for lunch sound? ketherphorbia: i ketherphorbia: i just started in on a fresh confec bonbon, but yeah 9augen: the finnegans across the street from your old place? its on me ketherphorbia: something tells me you’re just looking for an excuse to milk their one-cred goldfinch lunch special 9augen: if you want a few, just say so. can you be there in... what. an hour? ketherphorbia: it honestly sounds fantastic. we can both talk. if you want

Still rattled from the abrupt invitation, ‘Choly put the knife in the sink and rounded the modular divider to rummage in the other nightstand drawers for something to throw on. First came his back brace, splints, and wrist braces, and he yanked together his salmon button-up, black sweater with the elbows cut out, and slashed jeans over the orange leggings. Taking his jewelry box into the bathroom, he then brushed his bangtails and tucked the right side back with his ABC-gum barrette. He hooked his new black acrylic skull-cutout gauge hangers into his ears, and plucked his balloon animal and saturn-symbol pendants to string around his neck. The spoon pin went in his left collar-point, and he sat on the daybed for his socks. On the way out the door, he tucked the wax paper wrapped Confec into his diamond-shaped cross-body bag and nabbed his cane, retrieved his glasses, and slipped into his mint creepers.

Along the short trip down to Level 5, he shot Cecil a short message:

|| Might not be home when you get off work. Augen invited me to lunch. He hasn’t said hardly a word since it happened, and I get the feeling he needs a friend right now. ||

Cecil replied to him as ‘Choly waved his pass and boarded the toll lift:

|| I can only imagine how hard it’s been for him. Hope he’s doing ok. You two have a good time. Expect me late. Love you. Give him a kiss for me ||

With a chuckle and a fish emoticon, ‘Choly exited the lift and hobbled down the street. He texted Augen that he'd arrived, asking where to meet him, because at first he didn't see him outside. Leaning on the front façade of the Finnegan’s, a tall gothic figure smoked religiously. The younger man with dark hair pulled into a low messy bun wore a black button-down and drop-crotch pants, a dark grey knee-length gauzy vest, a large black shawl-scarf wrapped around his shoulders and neck, and mesh boots. Upon closer inspection, the combination of facial body mods--spider bites, gauged one-inch ears and 2ga medusa each with glass plugs, symmetrical double brow piercings, and batwing clicker--confirmed for ‘Choly that this was his friend. Somehow, even with his suspicion as to why Augen had initiated the meeting, he’d still expected to find him his old self, and not this anxious chain-smoking human mess. It stuck in his throat, to know his friend had silently suffered in his humanity for the past six weeks. Augen rolled his eyes at him, having just checked his messages.

“Word of warning, I’m a bit thrushed right now,” 'Choly blurted out. Rather than respond, Augen leaned down and steadied ‘Choly’s chin to give him a kiss. ‘Choly smiled strangely and reciprocated with a second peck, then navigated the awkward posture into a hug as he tucked his head against Augen’s chest. It unnerved 'Choly that his friend was no longer cold-blooded, no longer clammy and tepid, but he kept it to himself. “...Hello to you, too.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Augen rubbed at ‘Choly’s scruff and held the door for him. He eyed ‘Choly’s sweater dully in passing. “Don’t Quit Your Daydream, huh?”

‘Choly looked down at the saying printed on his front once they’d cleared the atrium, and his brows upturned.

“Hah, maladaptive daydreaming. Had it for years. I just kinda threw something on so I wouldn’t run late.”

“Daydream... into a living nightmare...”

With the detached comment, Augen picked a seat for them right in the middle of the bustling lunchtime venue. Marinating in his dissociative veneer, ‘Choly swallowed hard at the prospect of purposefully navigating his mental filter. With a series of finger gestures along the tabletop which doubled as a touchscreen menu, both ordered pinzones dorados and got to glancing over their options in silence. The server, a young brunet named Bert, promptly came and left with their drinks, as well as a basket of multicolored meal-rinds and two dishes of salsa. 'Choly sipped at his golden glowing pinzón, a smooth over-ice mix of tonic, hydroponic mezcal, triple sec, and lime liqueur, and mentally praised the facility with which one could get drunk at any hour in this city.

“So... this is a thing now.” ‘Choly got a rind real heavy with salsa and shoved it in his mouth.

Augen knocked back half his liquor in one motion, and slouched over it.

“I’d lived myself so fully, that I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be human. I’ve missed smoking, if we’re looking for an upside to all this.”

“There’s gotta be a way t’get back what you had. At least some of it?”

“That’s... just about the last thing I want to talk about right now. Past tense doesn’t feel so great.”

They used their mouths to crunch rinds and nothing else. Augen took a hit off the cig around his neck, and with a deep exhale he shut his sunken eyes, the vapors entangling with the odd abstract light fixture over the table. Once they'd placed their orders, 'Choly did his best to people watch behind a zoned out Augen, mostly observing the rotation of three servers popping in and out of the kitchen door with dishes. When a couple that sat on the same side of their far-corner booth thought 'Choly gawked at their unapologetic PDAs and gave him a stink-eye, he coughed, and started trying to read the pattern of scrapbooked web articles which plastered every wall and the ceiling of the restaurant. The theme of all the articles painted up Tri-City's sheer melting pot culture as a fusion city, boasting a collage of articles about people from just about every level in the hyper-metroplex.

Bert interrupted their silence with their meals, and 'Choly squirmed back to give the server the space to lay it out on the table. The teen couldn't hide a sigh of relief as he picked up one plate, and glanced between the both of them.

"Who ordered the wraps?"

Augen gave him a lazy hand gesture, and the plate slid over to him. On Augen’s plate of spring wraps lay six large seared shrimp. Sliced in half both for presentation and facility, the three girthy wraps were stuffed with a combination of mushroom slices, seaweed, and fried mealworms.

"And then, the benedict's yours. Extra sauce?"

"Yes, thank you," 'Choly lauded with a heavily modulated affect, as the other mess of a plate came his way. A viscous pale yellow-green mess blanketed two nondescript mounds of protein and bread, and along its side the cook had scattered soft, colorful citrus gummies. "So glad I can still get breakfast here this late."

"Is there anyth--" Bert broke off, unable not to stare at Augen, as he fished out a pair of napkin-rolled utensils to give them. Augen returned the stare, deadpan. "...Spring wraps, and a side order of shrimp. It is you."

‘Choly gave the poor boy a glossy smile, about to praise how good it all looked, but he quickly drooped in recognition of the tension.

“So I took a bath today,” Augen dismissed, total fatigue in his voice. “Big deal.”

‘Choly coughed, cataract-bloom eyes wide as he took a stiff sip. Setting the pinzón back down, he tried to smile up at the waiter again, his voice cracking. "Could we get more rinds?"

The waiter shook his head and shut his eyes, then nodded.

“--Sure thing.”

“And we already need another round of birds.” Augen traced the edge of the faded glass with one black-polished finger and a heavy-lidded, eyelined smirk.

The server flashed him a fake grin, poorly hiding his revelry that the city had defanged the loathsome goth.

“I’ll be right back.”

‘Choly fought with the self-conscious selfishness of directing the conversation to himself, but still he persisted, hoping to distract his friend from getting recognized by his typical order. ‘Choly unrolled his flatware to tuck the napkin beside his plate, and took up the table knife and fork with zeal. He didn’t want to admit it, but as had become typical in the past few weeks, the only thing he’d put in his stomach so far by that time of day was a slice of wax and a cup of coffee. Augen took precise bites, holding his food gingerly with thoroughly ring-encrusted hands. His face stitched with a faint sweat which could have been from stress, the heat of the food, or even mounting enebriation. 'Choly observed in distant and fascinated contemplation, unsure whether his friend derived his mannerisms from humanity or the vestiges of having so recently once been a hybrid. Augen shot him a vague glance, and he cringed from getting caught watching. ‘Choly pushed the sauce-drenched larva-hash back up on the one round bready thing he’d been cutting bites from, sheepish.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it, there’s gotta be something you can do to take your mind off it instead? Have you tried... writing, since...?”

Augen finished off the first drink right when Bert swung by two replacements and more rinds and salsa. ‘Choly hadn’t even drunk half of his first pinzón yet, and he nudged his new one his friend’s way, knowing the rate this meal was going.

“Most of the time,” the goth mumbled, welcoming the offer, “my writing takes a particular head space. And I sure as fuck haven’t been in it.”

“I mean, like. Not in a carnal sense. Sort of in a carnal sense. An emotional sense? A purgative sense?”

Augen kept his eyes on his food, but his ears patently on his friend. ‘Choly’s hallmark withdrawn posture and tone signaled vague, incumbent rambling. With welcome resignation the goth listened, as he’d aspired from the start. After all, ‘Choly always had been the long-winded one of them.

“You... You remember how I was writing stories about me gettin’ with the Geek, but then I stopped abruptly? The last wip I posted before I stopped was right after I found out that the Geek and the Larva were the same person. Early on, the reasons I couldn’t reconcile with finishing the piece were ‘cause of how badly my first encounter with him went, but then fantasy turned into reality and he... caught me stalkin’ him and. You remember that right?” ‘Choly fished his reader from his bag, and tried to locate a picture in his camera roll. “I know I sent you a selfie of the black eye he gave me...”

“...You couldn’t shut up about it for a month. Heh.”

‘Choly looked up from his reader with a dull gloss to his features, and sniffed.

“He even tracked me down, what, five weeks later? An’ things got super weird--" He chewed at his labret. "...I’m still trying to process everything that happened two years ago.”

“This is about the walls, isn’t it.”

“Not quite. And yet. Exactly. I just. I owe it to him to get the details right, don’t I? It feels real lousy to even consider writing a nonfictional account of him, and yet.” He popped an orange gummy in his mouth, and licked the thick, tangy sauce off his swan-splinted fingertip. “I feel like I need to get the very concept of him in print, to get it out from inside of me. I know it’s already been two years since the walls went up, but I don’t think it’s possible for me to forget all that... death, even for a day.” A grapefruit one, this time. “How do you stay motivated to write something that hurts and arouses you, both in ways nothing else has ever really managed to?”

Augen dipped a spring roll in his salsa, and started working on the third drink. Not glancing up from his food, his brows piqued with heavy lids.

“A difficult question. Perhaps a better reply would be another question: Who’re you writing this for?”

‘Choly set down his utensils and stared down his food.

“I’d say it was for me, but I feel like I need to put his ghost to rest. I’d say it was for him, but it’s also in hopes of jamming my brain because something more accurate could exist of him than anything I’ve written of him prior. And I’d... say it was for you, or any of my followers, but I... don’t even know if I can bring myself to post the results.” The dreg sneaked the Confec from his bag and set it beside his plate. “I... I gotta have another slice.”

That got Augen’s attention.

“Mmh. Mind sharing?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

‘Choly sliced through the partial ball a few times with his thumbs against the spine of the knife, and Augen reached over to help himself to one. Wincing at the bitterness, he chewed it up and washed it down with more liquor. 'Choly simply slouched back and let the stringent melt go for a few minutes, thinking it nearly paired with the citrus cubes.

“Cecil knows about us,” Augen began, eyes stitched shut, “but you never did tell Cecil about the Geek, did you? Have you ever wanted to?”

“I told him about Chalcedony. And he may not have said anything, but I know he knows about me an’ the Geek. Can’t not. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how open he is to it all. It’s like he believes leaving me untethered keeps me more faithful. He’s... not wrong, I guess.” ‘Choly looked up when he heard Augen stifle a choke, and suddenly he regretted sharing. His friend’s face was glistening, grey eyes wide. “Are you-- all right?”

Bert paused in passing, noticing Augen's demeanor.

“How’s everything tasting so far?” the waiter interjected.

“Don't mind him." 'Choly quickly stashed the Confec back in his bag, unsure whether having it would cause them trouble. "--I think something just went down the wrong way.”

The boy frowned at the Augen, who blanched and rubbed at his Adam’s apple a bit. On cue, Augen forced a cough.

“I... It's nothing," the goth uttered.

Augen tapped a finger on his glass, not looking to Bert, and the waiter plucked up their empty glasses with a nod and excused himself, shaking his head in delirious incredulity at what had become of their once most troublesome patron.

“Seriously... Are you okay? You know you’re supposed to let that stuff dissolve in your mouth.”

Rather than reply, the goth snatched one of ‘Choly’s wristbraced hands in both of his own, and guided it to hold his strained throat. He sustained breathless, tormented eye contact.

“It's wearing off faster than I was planning. Thought, for sure I'd at least get to slagging finish eating. I'll... I'll take it.”

“Wh--” ‘Choly tried to pull his hand back when Augen tipped his head back and lolled his eyes ever so slightly, but Augen held fast. The musculature writhed. “The f--”

“Here you go,” Bert tried, nudging the fresh drinks onto the table to interrupt purposefully. Augen glanced up at him in a pained sweat, and the boy squirmed. “I--”

“Thank... you,” the goth rasped. He finally let go of ‘Choly and inhaled the fresh drink in a single motion, and when he slammed down the glass a little too hard, Bert jumped and left. ‘Choly rubbed his hand at his pants to dry the clamminess, and fretted.

“Did you... Are you...” ‘Choly glared at his friend who increasingly failed at holding it together. “The fuck is in your cig cartridge?”

At a whisper, Augen leaned in close with a shrimp in hand, still struggling to eat despite everything.

“Gather your things where you can just... grab them easy... and play along.”

“Fuck, Augen. Did you really have to get this high while we were eating?” While he complied, ‘Choly’s face slacked loose about his face. “You’re tryin’ to pile it on with somethin’ to take the place of the vampire grafting. That’s what this is. What did you--”

Augen put a trembling finger to his own mouth and hushed him in exasperation, then slyly removed most of his rings to pocket them in the sash of his drop-crotch pants.

“Tch, wait for it...”

Hands clenching his temples, the goth stared a hole in the food between them. With an abrupt stifled seizing up, his head jerked back, and his neck musculature split at the seams to burst with intricate, familiar structures. He groan-choked as his ears pointed and flared out. He hunched over to clutch his stomach, and with a clatter of dishes, he spilled forward like a canned worm as his spine cracked and doubled in length. Despite that increasingly recognizable, panting face now inches from ‘Choly’s, the dreg could only stare in a dull slack gloss, transfixed on every high-definition hyper-detail of the rapid mutations which transpired before him.

The rest of Augen’s grafted features caught up rapidly. His webbed, clawed fingers wrapped around the far edges of the table as he craned across it, and he raked off half the dishes which shattered in the floor as he continued to writhe in asphyxiating agony. He gnashed his jaw as the bone wasted into cartilage, and his lips pursed tight before snapping wide into a prominence of concentric thorns. His disgustingly vascular skin exuded a gelatinous mucus and fell semi-translucent as it shifted to bear respiratory function. His throat punctured in two rows to either side of his trachea, aligning the second set of gills. He flared his flourished nostrils and panted and heaved, clouding scleric eyes escaping into his lids in tortured bliss.

As if the clatter hadn’t gotten all the patrons’ and staff’s attention, Augen let out a gurgled shriek. ‘Choly finally remembered to flinch and tried to shove him away, but Augen grabbed him by the wrist with a glare and demonstrated his now exaggerated neck by cracking it. The fish jerked and he looked behind him to see a patron still aimed their pneumatic gun at him. He brushed a tranq dart from his lower back and slowly closed his mouth into a broad, dopey smile. Before ‘Choly knew it, the vampire had snatched him up and rushed for the front door. On the way out, he flung ‘Choly, belongings and all, into the lender’s wheelchair, and scrambled away as fast as he could.

"APRIL FOOL'S, BUGDICK!" Augen cackled hoarsely.

A coiled wobbly noodle speeding heartily down the street, he jerked left and right as he wound his way down ramps, a calculated and familiar escape route. The speed they’d achieved rattled the chair’s caster wheels, and ‘Choly clenched his teeth, the Confec robbing him of rightful sobbing when the fish tilted the chair back to compensate.

“We’re coming up on wheelchair-inaccessible territory soon. I'll admit I didn't think things through this far. I’m gonna need you to... do the skin thing. Totally slack. And... hold onto me for dear life.”

They rounded to the dismount, and ‘Choly’s head pounded as Augen plucked him up and the chair went flying off the edge of the street to eventually land in the bay. Reminiscent of a dance-dip, he flung ‘Choly around him like a sloppy backpack and kept running, ‘Choly’s cane in one hand and both ‘Choly’s forearms in the other. With a sharp duck into a side alley, they lost the three treadless-motorbike police who’d trailed them. Catching his breath slowly, Augen hugged the wall and walked backwards for a ways before he turned forward and descended a series of poorly neon-lit stairs. ‘Choly groaned. His head swam like he'd gone over with the wheelchair.

“Was that... entirely... necessary...”

After passing through a pair of wired-windowed doors, Augen set ‘Choly down against the wall of the alley-hall, and gave him back his cane once he’d reset his joints. Then, the vampire produced a canteen and drenched his face, neck, and shoulders.

“Explicitly.” Augen let out a slow, hearty chuckle. "Slag it all, that was fantastic."

“Where are we even going...? Level Four starts soon. We go deep enough into this alley, we’re gonna hit the quarantine.” No response followed. “I’m not getting an explanation until we get there, am I.”

Augen put up the portable water he’d had ready from the start, and tucked his gills into the now damp scarf-shawl. He held out his webbed hand in offer to piggyback ‘Choly again.

"Mmh, it's a few flights until there's an access elevator that still runs lower than Level 5. I'll continue carrying you, if it's too much for you. And you want me to."

"I feel like I'm going to regret turning down an offer like that."

Augen hoisted him back up across his shoulders. Nothing but fluorescent red lighting illuminated the next access tunnel, the hollow echo of the abandoned mid-level alleyway deeply claustrophobic. 'Choly sank his face into the vampire’s shoulder, and over time the biodrug harmonized with the rhythmic descent down next case of stairs, and soothed him into a total detachment from reality.

"Look to your right."

Augen tapped at the forearms he held around his neck. 'Choly picked his head up and did as directed, finding he'd passed out long enough that they now traversed a different corridor entirely. Bright yellow graffiti dripped along the long corridor.

WE'RE STILL DOWN HERE AND THE AIR'S JUST FINE

The more 'Choly took in of the wall, the more he realized similar graffiti had accumulated all throughout this passage, a technicolor synecdoche of the ghosts which resided a hundred yards beneath their feet.

"It wasn't my primary intention to show you this, by bringing you down here, but on the way down the stairs, after all you said at lunch, I figured bringing your attention to it might do your sensibilities some good. The access doors up at Level 5? I didn't unbolt them. They did."

"But how--"

"They're finding all the cracks the city didn't seal. They've been trickling out to the city limits' commercial district for some time now, but they only just recently got this far. The city pretty literally burned all the bridges they knew of between Levels 3 and 5. ...I've seen them in passing a few times. It's a shame we just missed them, going by the fresh paint. Nothing keeps 'em down. It's beautiful, really."

'Choly sank back into Augen's shoulder, staring at the defaced wall as Augen walked.

"They've been able to escape..."

"Long enough to grab food and water, and get back inside." The vampire opened the next access door and finally exited the alley. "It's just a short way to my place now. You should get some rest."

'Choly yawned and nodded, in shock and awe as he looked around the once familiar neighborhood, now a crumbling urban ghost town. Before he really noticed, they had already entered a building.

"You... this is that place you mentioned before, isn't it. We're on Level 4, aren't we."

"Home sweet home," Augen soothed, laying him back on a palette of bedding. He removed 'Choly's glasses and bag, and petted his forehead before leaving him to pass out.

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[crown-eater]

Abdications of Flesh

[ With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence, 1. ] [ The Uptake (table of contents) ]

Man, “Maze” and “Vital Ones” need a hard overhaul after this, I swear. Establish ALL the foreshadowing Sorry in advance for how heavy this is, uh

Disconnection became the peristaltic pulse of Tri-City in the wake of the permanent quarantine. The ghosts of the Stalkers’ Quarter reached out and up from the imposing hundred-yard walls which confined it, a glaring neon Wolfram concrete warning to anyone who might wonder what might lay within an entryless barrier. In mere months, the supersaturation of public guilt left citizens complacent to a shared commiseration that it had to be done, that there was no other way; and in the wake of dispassionate transgressions, came a vast and opportunistic multitude of nepenthe. City laws evolved rapidly to meet the needs--and demands--of the masses. Everyone nursed their own personal set of vices. 24-hour liquor stores and bars bloomed up overnight, and over time other more creative maladaptive indulgences became equally commonplace.

Suddenly, more than any other point in the history of their lives, everyone wanted to be anyone but themselves. Industry could adapt. Industry could provide.

'Choly and Cecil walked down a Level 12 street in the commercial district, the smooth and simplistic concrete facades along the entire strip swathed in advertisements projected upon their every surface. Romantic strands of Valentine’s Day decor still lingered in places. ‘Choly wore a salmon dress shirt under an oversize mint green sweater with black pants and mint green creepers, with large green gauge tunnels and his bangtails loose to either side of his bespectacled face. Cecil seemed to have tried to coordinate this, with a pale pink button-up shirt and dark grey pants both with cuffs rolled, thin black suspenders, and two-tone oxford boots.

“It’s not too dissimilar to our great city’s thriving cannabinoid market.” ‘Choly’s cane gait punctuated his wry lyric. “There’s fewer and fewer plants every day, but I guess agriculture knows the ones that’re most important to hold onto.”

“It’s not really a plant, though.” Cecil was the first to catch sight of where they were headed, and went ahead a bit to get to the neon pink door first. “It’s more of a fungus, I think. Made from fungus, anyway?”

“From what I hear...” ‘Choly came along far more slowly, and only continued once he’d closed the distance between him and his boyfriend. “...From what I hear, it’s made from a lot of things. Augen tells me this might just be what breaks the ban on Vekarix, that nobody will admit that’s what made Confec possible. The designer drug market is havin’ a hey day over genetically engineering hybrid magic mushrooms an’ shit. Swear, next thing we’ll hear, they’ll have put every known psychoactive living thing together in one organism, an’ we’ll be begging to take turns licking it.”

“Maybe they’ll finally come around to letting people continue splicing legally.” Cecil shot him a sarcastic grin as he held the door to a shop open for him. “If he’s right about the Vekarix, we might eventually see more and more diverse hybrids.”

‘Choly sniffed and side-eyed him as he stepped inside the small shop.

“People are... bound to do a lot of things in this desperate climate, whether or not it’s legal. Legality dilutes innovation, but definitely makes it easier access.”

Three other customers browsed as the pair entered. Glass display counters ran the entire track of the long narrow space, filled with racks of colorful shapes in a presentation not unlike a pastry shop. The wolf hybrid shopkeeper had her long electric blue hair pulled back over the crown of her head and braided tight. Her claws matched, and she wore a wide-strapped and very low-cut tailored white jumpsuit. ‘Choly barely kept himself from making comment on the coincidence.

“They make me think of chocolates.” ‘Choly stooped a bit just to admire the molded things. Many of the ones in that particular case had been marbled with several colors in one. He caught sight of the price tags and his face drooped.

“It’s more like soap, if you want to be honest.” The shopkeeper approached them and ran a paw over her hair. The door buzzed shut again, and suddenly it was just the three of them. “I take it you gentlemen are gloss virgins? You’ve made a great choice to pop in here for your first time. We grow and refine our product ourselves. Everything on display is hand crafted.”

Stiffly, Cecil put his hands in his pockets and tried not to make eye contact.

“With neither of us really having experience with it, can you... recommend anything?”

“Well, if you’re just looking for glossy, the best place to start is one of our truffles. They’re not too bitter, and the high is pretty mellow and smooth-transitioning.” She gestured to the case with trays of milky white spheres, then next to it at the case ‘Choly had been eyeing, filled with little rainbow colored cube shapes. “And bonbons have a sharper flavor, but they take faster.”

‘Choly hemmed a bit.

“...An’ what about the hardest thing you’ve got?”

She held a breath against the roof of her mouth and let it out of her snout with a grin. She motioned for them to follow her to the back counter, where she rounded it to lean her elbows on it.

“Of course, we have more potent preps, too. You’re in luck to come in now, really. We just got in some new stuff, if you want to be cutting edge with your first time.” She pointed down to the finger-size amber screw-top ampules lined up to one side of the display. “Distilled Confec. The confectioner calls it resin, and I can say from personal experience you won’t regret it. It’s a composite-gloss, a cultivar custom-crafted by him.” She winked at Cecil, who swallowed hard and stood straighter. “My ears piqued when you mentioned Vek on your way in. Confec is great and all, but resin? It’s absolutely a food of the gods. The hardest entheogen I’ve ever had, and believe me when I call myself a connoisseur from personal experience.”

‘Choly eyed the counter, then looked up to the shopkeep.

“How much?”

“One vial’s forty-five. About twenty hits. It’s potent stuff. Only takes a drop or two, really.” She sneer-flinched and laughed. “Recommend the trope take for it, soaking it into a sugar cube. It’s real bitter.”

“You sure you need it?” Quietly, Cecil chewed at his spider bites. “As opposed to the Confec, I mean? We came here to get a handle on your anxiety, not go crazy.”

When Cecil continued to skirt the shopkeeper’s attempts at eye contact, she crossed her arms at him.

“Resin’s totally safe, if that’s your worry. But anxiety, though? If that’s what you’re here for, you’re more likely gonna want burfee. It’s got a veneer more than a gloss.” She pointed to the counter to their right, full of chalky pastel balls. “Cultivar’s got borrowed cannabis sequences. Takes the edge off everything, without inducing a full trip.”

“We can start with Confec,” ‘Choly resigned, gaze tracing the items in that case. “I was expecting a high price tag, but the resin’s a bit rich for my ah,” he leaned in nearer, “my Level Zero upbringing, if you get my meaning.”

After a moment she also leaned in even closer, and barked a laugh.

“I understand now why you need a little escapism, dreg. You got moxie keepin’ the ‘do. I know just looking at him that he’s not, though, so what’s his story? He weird around all hybrids? I’ve been tagged and documented, as if it matters.”

“You’ve got extraction scars.” Cecil tried his best not to fluster as he pointed tersely at his own ear for emphasis, keeping to a near-whisper. “Tagged, past tense. Talk about moxie.”

Her shoulders froze up when he called her out on it.

“Hum, I didn’t notice,” ‘Choly commented in a thoughtful detachment. His head tilted askew as he inspected the wolf girl’s right ear. Near the lower base, it crumpled in on itself a bit. “No wonder he’s crushing on you.”

“Tch!” Cecil removed his glasses and rubbed at his face.

“He likes hybrids,” ‘Choly continued, enjoying embarrassing him. “We both think you’re pretty cute, any rate.”

“Oh really now?” Her ears piqued and her eyelids drooped.

“...Very,” Cecil admitted. He put his glasses back on and fished out his wallet, stuffing down his social misery. “How much is the, uh, the burfee?”

“It’s twenty-five for half a dozen of one cultivar, but we’ve got a special this month, for a variety half-dozen for nineteen. Since you’re having trouble making up your minds, perhaps a sampler would help you feel out what’s up your alley. And...” She held a lyric to her tone when the pair of them looked in agreement finally. “I suppose I could toss in an amp of Resin if you give me a kiss on the cheek.”

The flush that washed across Cecil’s face lit up every faint freckle in a constellation of awkwardness, and he smirked before leaning across the counter and complying. He sneaked a brief rub of her cauliflower ear while he was at it, then pulled back to admire her, still holding out a cred. She blepped pleasantly at him as she took the cred to run it on the register screen.

“I totally didn’t think he’d do it,” ‘Choly mumbled, trying not to laugh.

“Me either.” She handed the cred back and lolled her pierced tongue in full at Cecil. “You’re not, like, a hybrid chaser or something, are you? Most normies can’t tell that my ear’s not just, like, a piercing deformity.” Her muzzle slacked. “Sorry, that was in poor taste of me. I forget some people went through with the therapy.”

Cecil’s only response, after a pause, was to wink at her. She shuffled over to unlock the display case and prepare the small cardstock box with what they’d purchased.

“Name’s Dee, by the way.” She popped the earned trinket in the corner of the box and twined it up, then handed the parcel to Cecil. “Maybe you’ll come see me again sometime.”

“Cecil. Dee, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Seconded,” ‘Choly chirped. His awkward flashing of a rigid, short hand wave and interjection of his own name got a chuckle from Dee.

“Hope it’s the escape you came in for.”

Once the two had exited the confectionery shop, Cecil continued carrying the purchase.

“Why’d you technically lie to Dee, anyway?” ‘Choly smiled at his boyfriend. “You never had any work done to have reversed.”

“Chalk it up to the stress of being ribbed over thinking she had spunk.”

The dreg choke-laughed at this, and ran a few free fingers over Cecil’s hand, eliciting a sly withdrawn smile.

They stopped briefly at a corner store for cheap premade coffee, and ‘Choly held the box while Cecil filled up two cups and paid for them. The dreg plopped down the Confec on the counter of the cramped coffee area of the establishment and took the weight off his legs for a spell against the wall, then pulled out his reader to burn a couple of minutes. He decided to snap a nondescript, contextualized pic of his acquisition and send it to Augen; even though the vampire’s availability was dimmed, he’d see the message later.

ketherphorbia sent a file SDC43011_100-5102.JPG.

ketherphorbia: mission successful

9augen is typing...

ketherphorbia: oh, hi

ketherphorbia: i’ve got good timing. didn’t think you’d be on

9augen has stopped typing.

9augen: please tell me youll be home soon. no one else is responding

ketherphorbia: need to talk?

9augen: its. sensitive. youll be home soon right

ketherphorbia: yeah, the confectioner’s we went to’s only one level up. is five minutes ok?

9augen: Yeah.

“Telling him about our adventure?”

Cecil returned and offered one of the syrofoam cups, and ‘Choly traded him the box for it, so that Cecil carried the Confec and one coffee, and ‘Choly carried the other with his free hand.

“I was about to. He’s being vague. In an urgent way. It bugs me.”

“I’m sure he just wants to trade juicies. Come on, let’s get going.”

The two each waved their public transit passes as they entered the toll lift, and cuddled against the back wall on the way one level down. Although this one cost a third-cred per level to ride one way, the nearest free lift was five blocks further away, and this toll lift let out on the same block as their housing complex. They exited and rounded the corner right into the lobby of the complex, and took the building elevator three floors to their apartment. While Cecil got the door, ‘Choly’s reader began to vibrate from receiving a vid chat, and he nearly dropped his coffee fumbling to double check that it was coming from the expected caller.

“You’re so slaggin’ impatient,” ‘Choly whined as he accepted with hesitation.

The screen was black, but he could hear labored breathing. Once inside their apartment, ‘Choly squinted at the display of his reader to see it indicated ‘no video’ and he sighed with an eye roll, suspecting that his friend had something ridiculous to reveal.

“Sorry,” the other end mustered, strangled and adenoidal. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared right now, ‘Choly.”

The foreign quality of the voice got the dreg’s attention immediately, and with a knitted brow, he quickly toed out of his creepers at the door and took his coffee to the daybed-couch in the back end of the apartment. The confec went to the side table beside the coffee on its coaster. Cecil watched ‘Choly trying to get comfortable, and offered a bold, blocky quilt and a knee-pat, but he wasn’t sure if he was invited to the call, so he took to the front end of the apartment to the confines of his book-nook, assuming he’d be fetched to join in if they so desired it. Either way, he’d hear about it later.

“You certainly don’t sound like yourself.” ‘Choly cleared his throat, hair on end. “What’d you get into, anyway?”

A long, labored pause lingered when the caller couldn’t form the words.

“...Augen...?”

“My coven got hit. They’re doing therapy raids now. Fucking Open Carry Manifesto! Fuck, it hurts so bad to talk. Can’t hardly see straight.” It took ‘Choly a while to understand what Augen had described, and a hand went to the dreg’s mouth as he stared at the blank screen. “You heard about the OCM, right. I’m not just a rambling lunatic right now?”

“I heard it was just civilian access to tranq, ‘cause Levelers are scared of the hybrids that kept their grafting. But fuck, Augen! Are you suggesting there’s a paramilitary force using it to force therapy serum? Since when did the government have the right!” He whipped off his glasses, nearly crying as everything set in. “--Oh fuck. Fuck. Are you all right? Of course you’re not all right. Fuck. --Where are you? Do we need to come get--”

“Shhhhhh. Take it down about fifteen notches. My head’s a thunderstorm right now. ...One question at a time, maybe. Ugh. ...First, no, the government doesn’t have the right. Best I can understand, this is a splinter of police, or army nuts, overstepping laws for sake of upholding moral code. They screamed out something like cleaning out a murderer’s den before they just unloaded on us.”

‘Choly was unaccustomed to hearing his friend talk this much at once, and the context as to why a fish had the breath to do so had his head reeling.

“But you got away, right? You’re not still at the, the coven?”

“I got away, yeah. Christ, this fucking sucks. They overdosed us on that shit, I guarantee you. Therapy’s supposed to be incremental--sessions--not abrupt like... THIS! Where’d they get that much serum? Must have a therapy physician in on their group. Sheisse. I’m the only one who’s got a possibility of springing back from this... Good chance the shock just killed a few of us outright. Grafting’s so goddamn expensive, even just solo-sequence jobs. Getting the procedure that gave people their real identities, for a lot of them it was their life savings. ...Or someone else’s.”

‘Choly set down his glasses and his cataracted eyes zoned out into the blackness of the vid screen. He’d never seen his friend’s face before the grafting, and his curiosity went haywire. Briefly, he barely kept himself from asking aloud for Augen to show him what he looked like. 'Choly wondered if Augen would ever be comfortable enough to meet in person ever again. But, he trusted ‘Choly enough to voice call him like this, and he’d never done that before his grafting, either. The dreg laid down on the couch on his side, and pulled the quilt over himself.

“What I want to know is how they found where you guys were lying low. It’s not like you were being tasteless about it and lurking a geek bar or some shit. Vampires, your kind’s not stupid. ...Wait, what do you mean, or someone else’s?”

“I fell off the grid after my grafting for a lot of reasons. Linnaeus’s circle works a lot like a cult. They scout for vulnerable people. People already ideologically charged and unlikely to have a change of faith even when tested. And those who either have lots of money, or have access to lots of money. Most of my coven fit that bill three-for-three, to be realistic. They were... most supportive of getting the money through whatever means possible. I sold my car. Sold pretty much everything. But it wasn’t enough. I knew how to get into my parents’ retirement savings, and I knew that money would only go to waste perpetuating their uninspired, horridly humanesque lives. And I knew they’d have nothing to do with me, the real me, so there was only one real resolution to that moral conflict. ...If I got caught like this, where I’m recognizable for what I was before I was myself... I don’t think I’d do well in jail. And that’s just for the theft, what can be accounted to my birth name...”

“You... you said it was an overdose of serum,” ‘Choly reached, desperate to find something that might lift his friend’s spirits. “And you said there’s a chance you’ll spring back? You’re talking about your marine graft, right?”

A pleasant breath was all he heard for a while.

“I’d say it feels like reckless optimism to grapple onto what it is at its core, but Vek is a metagen by definition. Therapy serum is basically a human-DNA graft job, an attempt to flush out the animal grafts. They told me during my follow-up sessions that subsequent grafting jobs would never stick, thanks to the tunicate graft, and not to waste my cred. I was just rambling when I said it, but maybe you’re right. Maybe the tunicate will recognize the... virus, and kick it for me. I’d get to experience becoming myself all over again. ...Thanks. Sometimes, you know just what to say. At the very least, if gives me something pleasant to focus on while this shit wears off.”

“Can I... Can I ask a bad question?” ‘Choly’s words strangled himself.

“Yes, my reader is working fine. Yes, I have vid off on purpose. No, I haven’t had the nerve to do front-facing camera yet, and there’s not a mirror here. If the answer wasn’t one of these, then what were you going to ask me? Otherwise, you know the answer.”

‘Choly swallowed and gave him an exhausted smile.

“Where are you?”

Augen wasn’t sure he’d heard him right and laughed like broken silver.

“I’m not even wholly sure how to tell you where it is. It used to be an automotive repair, going off what’s left in here, and off what it smells like. I think... it specialized in cars from back when it was all by tread. If th-- When things go back to normal, I’m inclined to feel out how secure it is. It strikes me as a good place to make more... permanent than just hiding in.”

“It’ll more than go back to normal,” ‘Choly grinned. “I guarantee it.”

“I just remembered, you sent me a pic of your prize earlier. My moment of weakness has kept you from indulging. You’ve got the right idea, honestly. I’m lucky. I picked up an amp of Resin last night, and I was five minutes from taking a hit before... everything happened. It’s, like, hyper-Confec. I’ll have to let you try some next time we get together. But for now, this amp’s all for me. I... I think I can end call finally. I just can’t be... this right now.”

“You’ve earned it.”

“Enjoy your evening, bug dick.”

“You, too, stinkface. I’ll have my phone near me if you need me, all right?”

The screen flickered a moment before Augen’s face came into focus in a strange fluorescent amber lighting that didn’t match the ambient glow of Wolfram concrete interiors. ‘Choly wasn’t sure what he expected of his friend’s human features, but the juxtaposition of how his long, dark, stringy mess of hair framed his angular, slim pierced features only magnified the haunted sense of atrophy about him, crestfallen yet still forcing a tired smile. Ostensibly, a massive part of his identity had wasted away that day. Augen could tell ‘Choly had tried to take a screencap and ended the call.

9augen: may this vid call be the last you ever see of this pathetic asshole

‘Choly sent him a mushroom emoticon and set down his reader on the arm of the couch with a dopey, self-conscious smile. Augen had been gorgeous even before undergoing the grafting procedure that transfigured him, though the dreg knew better than to ever share such a sentiment. He sat up and glanced over to the box on the side table, seeking vicariousness even in his friend’s vulnerability, and pulled it into his lap. He’d be fine. And Augen would be fine.

But first, some time needed to pass, and the last thing he wanted was to be present for it.

[the-uptake]

Medical waste and its real role in our lives

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 7. Go to previous. Go to next. Augen, you, ah. Doin’ okay there, buddy?

________________________________

Augen took ‘Choly for a smoothie, then the two pressed on to locate a geek bar where the two would sit and eat. Equal parts cafe and specialty grocer’s, the lighting there did not wash out or overwhelm like that of a typical grocery store, but it still had better lighting than a restaurant such as Finnegan’s. In the wake of the events the day before, the gamut of hybrids who had gathered in the establishment seemed terse and agitated despite many of them forcing a genial demeanor. As the lamprey finger-swiped his order at their small digital table near the front, ‘Choly squared up the wheelchair, and ended up folding back the right footrest in order to give Augen sufficient leg clearance beneath the table.

“You… sure it’s okay for me to be here?” ‘Choly glanced about and absently sucked at his straw. The world around him still largely a blur, he couldn’t identify the species of most patrons, let alone what they were eating. “Slag, can’t even see the TV up at the bar.”

“I’m sure it’s just more of the same news we’ve seen for hours at the HP. As long as you behave yourself, hybrids don’t typically mind mixed company. We come places like this not just for a meal, but for a safe space.” Augen pulled out his reader in its waterproof case and set it beside ‘Choly’s on the charge pad panel on the side of the round table nearest the wall. “It shouldn’t take long here to get juiced up. Fuel, energy, a bit of spirit. The necessities.”

The waitperson, a tiger hybrid in a two-piece suit with rolled sleeves, brought out a bag of blood, a pint glass, and a double shot of vodka for each of them, and left directing a brief stifled stink-eye at ‘Choly. Augen unfastened a necklace from beneath his shirt and unfolded the sheath of the pendant to produce a small barber’s notched razor, which he then used to snip the neck of the blood bag and pour it into the glass. Once he’d emptied its contents into the glass, he snapped the pendant back together and returned it to hang under his shirt. He slouched back in his chair a bit and wrapped his lips around roughly half of the mouth of the glass to drink at it.

“Trying to look the part of etiquette, I’m assuming.” ‘Choly tacitly popped the lid off his smoothie to add his vodka to his drink, and Augen choked a bit in nuisance of such commentary. “I know your mouth’s big enough to fit the whole thing in.”

“You know how I am with ritual,” the vampire mumbled, setting down the food a moment in favor of the liquor. “Besides, I’m not here to give anyone a proto-Vek show of it.”

“I just realized. Uh. Until today, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you eat.” ‘Choly put the lid back on and stirred it with his straw, and Augen struggled to read the way the dreg squinted at him in thought. He sucked at the doctored smoothie. “What’s it like? Eating meat. Real meat.”

“I haven’t taken you out like this yet, have I? I don’t really eat meat. I eat blood. My metabolism’s better than most sanguinarians in the same position as myself. Only got to make a full meal of it once or twice a week. Can’t keep stocked where I’m staying, since it can’t stay fresh without… specific equipment.” Augen fell heavy lidded at the notion of what it took to draw, keep, and store food-grade blood. “I stick to geek bars these days. Repeat donors are expensive and difficult to find, but most geek bars have hashed out contracts with blood clinics. They do a community service, doing the hard part for hybrids. We’re more civilized and rational than most of us will give credit for.”

‘Choly craned across the table to shoot a cataract-glazed glare at the fish.

“You could have fooled me, with how things went yesterday.” He chewed at his straw a minute, shaking, and steadied himself on the tabletop. “I asked about the meat, because I didn’t know how the hybrid side of the conflict panned out when the TIP scandal hit the fan. I was in my teens during the global shift to insect meat. Hybrids can’t eat TIP.”

The two of them both jumped when the whole place burst into an enthusiastic commotion before trickling back down to an energetic simmer.

“A misconception. Though initially true, TIP’s improved. Various texturizing agents help it imitate the mouthfeel of non-insect meats, but the FDA’s gotten more conscientious about including certain amino acids to complete the imitation to full nutritional effect. Just off the top of my head, feline hybrids can go blind without enough taurine, for example, so now there’s a particular food-grade maggot that’s been bred to have naturally high taurine levels. And they’ve got to list the specific amino acids on TIP packaging now.” Augen set down his pint glass and his eyes fell distant on ‘Choly’s cup. “I don’t even remember the changeover. I’m, what, six years younger than you? After the TIP scandal, I was obsessed with the ritual of finding real meat. I wasted so much cred on rat and pigeon meat as a teen. I was convinced that my deficit was in my food source, not in my own body. Turns out, it’s just that I was born with the wrong digestive tract.”

“…So you said blood clinic. It’s real blood? Insects don’t bleed, do they?“

“Of what’s donated, clinics sell a portion to third parties like geek bars. It’s real blood. Human, even.” The fish grinned dopily, ear-to-ear, and returned to his glass in a mock toast. “The day they can texturize something insect-based to simulate the taste, feel, and value of blood is the day true FDA blasphemy has gone too far.”

“There’s a joke to be had over the trade secret for convincing stage blood, but.” ‘Choly let out an odd chuckle and followed the gesture in agreement, not sure how else to respond. His hand sank as he sucked down more of his smoothie, and his features slacked in thought as his head got lost in the chilled warmth of the vodka amid the different blended fruit-like slush. “Come to think of it… I don’t think I recall hybrids with grafting from cows, or pigs, or any of that. Is that an ideological coincidence, or a scarcity thing? Do you think… the average hybrid would consider that kind of grafting weird? To be partly something that non-hybrids once considered food? Slag, I hope people don’t like. Try to–”

Augen slouched across the table in an instant, nose to nose, eye-to-eye.

“Anyone’s food, if you’re not a coward,” he whispered a little too heavily, his eyes wild. He softened after a moment and nipped at ‘Choly’s earlobe with a tiny playful lick. “In the least platonic sense, of course.” He sat back to douse his throat with his canteen.

The dreg shivered head to toe and bit at his labret. Not a topic for the setting. I get it. "For how much I’ve gone clubbing in the past, I’ll admit I’ve never stepped foot in a geek bar personally. It felt weird, is all. I should be glad, I guess, that they’re not frustrated that I’ve got outside food, all things considered. It never really dawned on me that hybrids go grocery shopping just like non-hybrids.”

“We don’t go out for every meal. At least, most of us don’t. Contrary to the colloquialism of these places, most hybrids are relatively private with their eating habits, and don’t like to be gawked at. There are a lot of geek bars that have a no ‘non-hybrids’ policy because they have that rampant an issue with that brand of voyeurism. One of those, if you’re here to watch, find a mixer club mentalities.”

“Cecil and I met at a mixer club,” ‘Choly smiled. “Funny that we were both cruising, and ended up hooking up with each other instead.”

“I remember you mentioning you’re both in that way.” Augen chuckled at a low click. “Though, it’s a peculiar comfort that you seemed to find what I used to look like even half as attractive as you find the real me.” Squinting in craving, he fell quiet and leaned in to whisper again. “…It’s surprisingly next to impossible to get my hands on more therapy serum. The people who have it don’t tend to want to even come into contact with hybrids, let alone sell to them. Fuck, there’s nothing else that can measure up to it.”

“I can only imagine,” ‘Choly humored again, still unable to quite process what had happened at the table at Finnegan’s the day before. “I used to subscribe to onset video channels. I’m sure you’re pretty unique in terms of not only having a use for the stuff, but finding a deranged pleasure in it. Sure, it makes you human again, but it sounds so… dehumanizing.”

“I consider it… a sort of negative space that offsets the delirium. There’s a reason hybrids often get hooked on grafting. Vekarix is an experience.”

“How lucky for you, then, that you’ve found a way to keep that experience alive for you every day,” ‘Choly sugar-coated, unsure if any hybrid patrons within earshot might find objection in the topic. He raised an eyebrow, able to tell from the furtive glaze in Augen’s eyes that he’d said something that clicked in the vampire’s head. His reader chirped out a string of notifications, indicating it had reached a full charge and regained a server connection. He picked it up to look at it, only to set down his drink and use both hands to reply with a tense jaw. “–My parents, shit.”

“They–”

“–Moved to Trenton before the quarantine. My mom says the blackout caused a brownout throughout the state. They’re both safe and with power, but they don’t have a full Web connection.” Hastily replying the best he could, he swallowed despite how the abrupt stressor had dried out his mouth, and coughed.

|| We’re alive. I had the day off yesterday. Cecil was in the explosion. Rev escorted me to Premier so we could see him in the hospital. I haven’t slept since yesterday. I’ll call you guys once I’ve rested and catch up. We love you. ||

“Letting them know you’re all right?” Augen’s head fell slightly askew as he polished off the glass. Too convenient to be a mirroring behavior, he’d also picked up his reader and been texting someone.

“Yeah. I can’t get caught up talking to them right now, though. I’ll call later.” They’ll ask if I’m okay, and I’m a terrible liar. “What’s that about?”

Augen tucked his reader into an apron pocket and stood. He was about to wave his cred-card at the pad, but the tiger hybrid was rushing up and waved away his hand with a delirium.

“No, no, no! On the house. Today we celebrate.”

Augen and ‘Choly stared at them, confused.

“April Fool’s… was yesterday,” ‘Choly started. “What are we…”

“–Oh, I’m sure you’re not celebrating, but we are. The Mid-Atlantic Hybrid Registry is down for the count because of… what happened yesterday. Permanently. There were magnet pulses involved. Tri-City Central’s whole server’s dead.” They grinned and purred, copper eyes wide as saucers. “Not to speak ill of the sacrifice, but gods bless whoever’s responsible. That thing was the single biggest civil rights violation in the country since they tried to make queer identities illegal in 2024!”

Augen couldn’t possibly have paled more, and he did his best to steel his demeanor by putting a hand to the tiger’s shoulder in camaraderie.

“My god. We’re… we’re free. But at what… cost…?”

“Augen, you okay?” Sweating, ‘Choly nudged at his free hand. “Buddy?”

“It doesn’t matter when you were made, brother.” The tiger took both Augen’s hands in their paws. “We’re free. All of us.”

“I… I have to go. My friend, we’re– we’re late for his appointment. Thank you.”

“I–”

‘Choly nodded in frenetic approval, and let Augen push him, but he didn’t remember to fold his footrest back forward until it loudly grazed the door frame of the establishment on their way out. He nearly dropped his smoothie in embarrassment, scrambling to right the problem.

“–I, THANK YOU!”

He took another sip as they strolled purposefully through the neon streets. “…I don’t know if I can get used to this thing, man. I’m glad you’re pushing me. I feel better after getting something nutritional in me, though. You feel better too?”

“I’ll feel better once I can fix my ribs. It’s getting to be too much to ignore.”

‘Choly looked up and back at him in interested confusion.

“You know of a doctor like Bell in Premier?”

“No. We’re going to Linnaeus’s old parlor.”

‘Choly nearly spat out his drink.

“–Fuck, Augen. I’ve had enough verbot shit in the past twenty-four hours to last me a whole year.”

“You don’t have to come with me.”

“Like fuck I don’t. You promised y’wouldn’t leave me alone ‘til I had eyes again.”

“I could take you back to the hospital room, so you could stay with Cecil.”

“They’d probably just run me out again.” He realized that Augen’s texts must have been to Cecil’s brother, and his jaw slacked a bit. “Why are we looking for this place? Isn’t it abandoned?”

“I need to jog my healing response. Pretty much any metagenic exposure will work, and his parlor seems like the most convenient option considering we’re a bit stranded in Premier. I asked Linnaeus if his stuff is still in there, and he said that they repossessed the whole property, stock, equipment, and all–but that he doesn’t know exactly what’s left. He wasn’t allowed to take anything with him, but a new owner hasn’t bought it yet, and last he checked, it hasn’t been cleaned out, either. There’s got to be some Vek doses left. …You don’t need to worry. I know this part of town.”

“The part of town isn’t what I’m worried about…” ‘Choly built the nerve. “You don’t think Linnaeus did it, do you? You’re so fucking freaked out right now.”

“Not in a million years.” A stuttered near hyperventilation fell out of Augen as he started pushing faster, kicking into a wheelie and escalating into a forceful chiropteran chitter that made ‘Choly flinch and tremble. “Not. In a million years.”

“StinkfaACE WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO DRIVE–” The blood suffused ‘Choly’s inebriated skull as the chair rattled beneath him. Unable to unclench, he considered the very real chance that Central might permanently be destroyed, as the tiger had described, and he sublimated to derangement.

Nothing’s illegal if it can’t be regulated, and with the plug pulled, law and order in Tri-City had ceased yesterday. The crime rate was about to drop to zero.

Augen could only laugh and propel the two of them faster.

After taking a toll-free mass public lift up to Level 12, they navigated the sidewalks of the commercial district, and they entered a large multi-story office building with a decent amount of foot traffic. Augen drew his shawl over his head again and avoided eye contact with passersby. ‘Choly pointed vaguely at the directory map while they waited for the elevator, and Augen nodded once he’d skimmed and located an empty placard slot. He tossed ‘Choly’s empty cup for him in time for the elevator car to arrive and let off its passengers. A few others needed to ride with them, and they let ‘Choly get in first and tuck into the corner with Augen before they got in with them. When asked for a floor, Augen told them the fifteenth floor. Once they’d ridden all the way to the twenty-second floor, they descended back to the seventh and exited free of anyone who’d seen them enter.

The seventh floor hall had bright orange low-pile carpet, and far less traffic than the first floor. From the looks of the placards outside each establishment, this was chiefly a medical floor, but after Linnaeus’s parlor had closed, much of it had pulled out. They turned right at the end of the hallway, and located the large clinic-like commercial space. The Lazarus Hall. Welded rivets boarded up the doors, along with a trespassing warning and a for lease sign. Augen didn’t even hesitate to keep walking down the hall, and turned left down a small side-hall at the end of the way. ‘Choly knew to keep quiet, but it wasn’t until they turned left again and got to a false door which Augen slid aside to expose a passcoded door, that ‘Choly understood how simple it would be for them to gain access. Augen double-checked his texts to Linnaeus for the sequence, and while he slid the false door back in place, he had ‘Choly hold open the door with the wheel of his chair.

“It’s a good thing they boarded up all the windows and doors on the front face,” Augen quipped, using his reader’s flashlight to illuminate the office space. Disengaging pushing ‘Choly, he took a canteen break to re-moisturize and investigate the place for himself. “It’ll give us away to the building owners if we turn on anything, but no one will see our reader light.”

“This place is huge,” ‘Choly awed, puttering along close behind him by the handrims with his drink between his legs. “Just how many people do you think he saw every day, back when it was at its peak?”

“On a slow day, The Lazarus Hall probably saw easily a hundred patients. Busy days, in the thousands. There were about a dozen Vek artists running the place. I’d say a solid one in five of Tri-City’s hybrids got their work done right here, and probably one in three of Manhattan Premier’s. It’s a piece of history. Maybe one day, they’ll reopen its doors.”

“I’m just shocked the security isn’t better, considering Vek is a Schedule 2 chemical.” The moved into the consultation room halls, and he followed as Augen went room to room to assess what remained. “The layout’s a lot like the All’s Well Clinic. I don’t think you’re likely t’find anything useful in the patient rooms, ‘less y'want me t’get a good look in those ears an’ nose. They’ve gotta have a pharmacy where all the meds and truck’s stored.”

“If it’s so much like All’s Well, then where is that room?”

“Hopefully on the first floor,” ‘Choly mumbled in distraction, noticing an elevator door and a stairwell beside it. “I repeat. This place is huge.”

“You know, they didn’t just shut down The Lazarus Hall to make an example of Linnaeus and his associates as prominent Vek artists. This is where they started researching cross-branch grafting. Vek specialists still think it’s possible to graft animal genetics into non-animals, but that the other way’s impossible. They didn’t even used to think mammals could receive grafting from non-mammals–”

“–You remember how badly I wanted insect grafting,” the dreg snipped in lament.

“–They didn’t think it was possible. The staff here was on the brink of proving that wrong. He couldn’t save any of the equipment or materials, but he managed to get a copy of his research data. Together with the other three artists that escaped and fell off the grid, they finished out that research on their own.”

“What about the other artists? You said there was, like, a dozen of ‘em.”

“Those they captured didn’t have the choice between documentation or therapy serum. They were forced to comply with both.”

“…They must resent Linnaeus.”

“He managed to keep three of his staff members safe. That’s all I know. The four of them still work down the street from me, heh. From what I understand, they were the only ones who took the rumors seriously when the staff was warned to get out while they could.”

“Whoever had that hidden back door installed must have known long in advance things could go South fast.”

“I’m almost positive that’s the exact purpose of that door. The only other exit I can think of would be a treadless dock, and on an upper story of Level 12, they couldn’t have just run out the back way, unless there’d been a vehicle waiting for them.”

“A piece of history,” ‘Choly repeated. “Huh.”

They located a different arrangement of rooms halfway down into The Lazarus Hall, and found the pharmaceutical storage close to the reception and waiting room at the front. ‘Choly frowned, sharing Augen’s agitation that the shelves lay largely bare.

“So what are we looking for, anyway?”

“–The dock zone, then. I guess. Slaggit.”

The vampire grabbed the handlebars again and took control of the wheelchair again to match his pace.

“You think they left a shipment in tact without unloading it? All these years?”

“No. I’m just banking on the likelihood they didn’t pick up on trash day.”

The dock lay in the back far corner of the first floor, and Augen’s boots echoed between the metal walls and concrete floor. ‘Choly swept the area with his reader flashlight, and his jaw popped in dread at the mere sight of it. Goosebumps subsumed him head to toe as he shivered. Palette after palette of bright orange drums were stacked as many as seven high, and abandon knew how deep. Even without glasses, he could discern the unmistakable biohazard trefoils on every single one.

His breath ragged, ‘Choly separated from Augen to propel himself by one handrim and the shuffle of one foot, and took pictures of the scenery for souvenirs. Up close, he could read that every drum was labeled BF Meehl. After a mote of dissociation tried its luck, he bothered to pop his jaw back in place, and he sniveled in distrust.

“I don’t think these drums were here before the property was locked down,” ‘Choly started, mentally winded.

When he looked to Augen, the fish had freed the lever-lock ring of one of the drums on an unstacked palette, and straightened to his full length to stare down its contents.

“No shit.”

“What’s even in them?” ‘Choly stayed put, too unnerved with Augen’s demeanor to get any nearer. “They don’t look like they have any labels.”

“Probably mixed waste drums. Composite waste. It’s all dumped together. Sheisse, it’s perfect.” Augen coiled back down to his common posture, to rest his hands to either side of the drum rim, only to withdraw completely from the palette to disrobe. Without explanation, he approached ‘Choly and tucked his belongings ‘Choly’s lap. With a tepid swallow, the dreg’s eyes followed those cave-pale buttocks back to the open drum. “Most of these drums are probably grafting byproduct. To be honest, I don’t know where this kind of stuff was usually disposed of, even back when human grafting was legal. They’re all BF Meehl drums, aren’t they? As far as I know, Linnaeus was the owner. …Makes you wonder if Meehl has a sanitation subsidiary or something?”

“…Do we need to double back to the pharmacy stock room for some needles?” ‘Choly clapped a hand over his mouth in recognition of what was happening, and he writhed in place as his voice broke. “Wait. Holy fUCK. You’re just gonna shoot up whatever’s in that mess–? What if it’s not–”

“One better.”

“–Vek.”

And with that, Augen dunked his head face-first into the drum, and shoved himself down past his shoulders such that the contents overflowed and splattered. ‘Choly’s heart ratcheted to a near halt as he could do little else but look on in rapturous dismay. Years ago, the lamprey hybrid had put on a show for him, to demonstrate that he could expose himself to metagenic compounds and undergo their side effects, only for his genetically engineered immune system to reject the mutations and revert them back to the hybrid state his body understood as the default. But then, that had been Ketonamil exposure. He’d simply grown enormous from his endocrine system going haywire, and later sloughed flesh until he returned to normal dimensions. But ‘Choly didn’t think even Augen knew exactly what all was in this drum–if it was even Vek in the first place. Even if it were entirely Vekarix preparations, there was no way to tell what genetic donors would come from the exposure.

What if that wasn’t Vekarix. What if it’s not metagenic, and it just poisons him. What if he dies here. I can’t get back out of here on my own. I shouldn’t have come. They’re gonna catch us in here. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuc–

Augen came up for air, and his pleuric external gills flared out as he heaved.

“That’s the stuff.” His voice had thickened significantly, tremulous and viscous. “FUCK! I love that my skin is part of my respiratory system. Shit just soaks right into my bloodstream.”

“–So, so it was Vek?” he squeaked, sweating even worse.

Augen looked to him, and the reader flashlight reflected back more than two eyes. ‘Choly’s legs seized up, and his heart snagged on his ribs again.

“Doesn’t matter either way. What’s done’s done.” Drip drying rapidly along the way, he walked coolly to grip the wheelchair armrests and lean over ‘Choly. “Save your reader battery. Just let this be pure sound, smell, and touch. The light’s… really hurting somehow.”

“You fucker, you brought me with so I’d have to watch.”

Augen seemed to lurch at him, so he scrambled to comply with the request with a broken whine. After an impossible silence, the hybrid spasmed and tried to steady himself on the armrests with a stuttered, deflating groan. Breathless and desperate, he slumped into ‘Choly’s lap shoving his belongings to either side of ‘Choly’s hips, and trembling and twitching in what the dreg could only understand to be a seizure. Tears burning down his cheeks in an instant, 'Choly grabbed his friend’s bare, clammy, serpentine body to do his best to keep either of them from falling over, and exclaimed Augen’s name repeatedly with desperate finality.

The intensity with which Augen’s body shook seemed to peak with a crunching lurch, to which the hybrid gurgled a scream, equal parts agony and ecstasy. The The subsequent tremors softened to a shakiness, but ‘Choly couldn’t believe the force of that one motion hadn’t knocked the both of them back in the wheelchair. It wasn’t until the squelching sound of too-soft flesh shifting, that ‘Choly’s terrified hand wandered up Augen’s side, and met a membrane. Following the shoulder, he couldn’t reach the elbow. The hybrid lolled back his head and let out a bat-screech, and the dreg beneath him could tell that the arch in his elongated back could only serve the purpose of applying friction against his lap. With his other hand, Augen breathlessly guided ‘Choly to reach around to fondle him. Neither of them could process the tangle of flesh in their fingers as it seemed to nearly grope back at them.

“…What the fuck did you DO,” ‘Choly demand-defended, unable to take his hand back.

“It– hurts. Ohh god–” Augen seized up again. His flesh shivered wetly before another bony crunch echoed in the metallic space, and the musculature of his shoulders mashed back into ‘Choly’s face. “GhhaAH–”

‘Choly turned his head so he could breathe, but could do nothing about the amount of skin contact against his face. The chair lurched forward, and he slammed down his bare right foot to try to keep them from rolling too far forward in the dark. In the continued forward momentum he realized Augen’s arms were now at least as long as he was long, dragging back behind them as he tried to stretch his full limb span. 'Choly’s free hand found itself trying to make sense of the texture forming on what seemed to be Augen’s entire body, and his fingers traced what felt like hundreds of divots. With the clammy, tepid flesh pressed against him, the hyper-sweet chemical stink of whatever now tormented his friend nearly made him retch. Revulsion shifted to fixation, and his lower lip dragged in ragged repetition along the rim of the divots he could reach with his mouth as they formed deep macro-pores. He stuttered in arousal when one requited the osculation.

“Are you– making out with– my shHOULD– er–”

“God what the fuck,” ‘Choly uttered, intoxicated with overstimulation. After a few minutes of alternating to spread the attention around, he could tell Augen’s skin was rasping. His hair froze upright. He tried and failed to swallow. “You’re just as scared as I am, aren’t you.”

A phlegmy, nasal sound clicked and clicked and clicked in futility from Augen’s throat and flesh, like some kind of fetid orphic hairball. The body atop ‘Choly spasmed into rigor, and every orifice suffused a viscous, smacking exudate. The dreg squirmed to get away from the stuff, getting drenched head to toe as he was pinned in place by a creature that weighed at least three times more than him. He groaned pathetically as the stuff soaked into his pants and sweater, his mouth pursed tightly shut. Once Augen’s body slacked in his lap again, he put a nervous tongue tip to the mess slathering his friend’s mutated flesh, finding the stuff overwhelmingly musky and salty, and he flinched in frightened revulsion.

“Fuck-Me-in-the-Mouth, did you just. Did you just cum?”

“Out of everything. I never want t– uhhhhg I just… it’s not over, fuck.” The hybrid slid weakly down out of ‘Choly’s lap and onto the floor. “I didn’t think there was anything worse than puking. That was. NnnhOT. Pleasant.”

‘Choly had hit his limit and struggled despite his leg brace to join Augen on the polished concrete. He pulled off his diamond bag, sweater, and shirt and put them in the chair seat, then dragged the fish’s clothing down with him. He tucked the vest and pants under his head for a pillow, and used the shirt to wipe off his face and hair. He remembered to retrieve his reader from his bag and tucked it under his makeshift pillow after checking it still had decent reception and charge.

“Some of us just get to have all the fun, now, don’t we?” ‘Choly ribbed in total exhaustion, doing his best to cover himself with the shawl. “You started this day at one end of an extreme, and ended it flippin’ it to the other. SLAG! what a shitty end to a shitty day. I want a shower.”

“Just… don’t fucking turn on any lights.” Augen simmered, failing to entirely resist writhing as the metagen continued working his flesh into a tangled clusterfuck. “…Get some rest. Tomorrow’s the first day of the rest of our lawless, godawful lives.”

“Here’s hoping you’re still just one mouth to feed when we get out of here.”

Go to Next »»»

[the-uptake]

Other Kin

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter Six. Go to previous. Go to next.

TW: Bombing discussion newscasts, major permanent disfigurement, hospital loiterings, and ICU and life support stuff.

In other, I think I’m funny.

“--containment efforts throttle into full tilt to secure the lowest levels of the city. Extreme heat and radiation have thus far thwarted imaging attempts, to assess the full extent of damages thus far. City Council is meeting with the EPA and FEMA as we speak, to discuss fully capping the quarantine walls, and utilizing what was already built two years prior, to form the base of a containment for the melted fuel.”

‘Choly squinted at the screen with too little energy for exasperation. He’d moved back into the waiting room to watch one of the televisions mounted from the ceiling, to preserve both his battery and data. Without his glasses, he couldn’t see the time, and he checked his phone when the television screen caught sunlight from the wall of windows behind him. Nearly eight. Slag, the last time he’d looked at a clock with the intention of catching the time, it had been just before eight the night before. And he could tell it was going to be a long time before he could come close to getting any rest. Maybe he’d get lucky, and when he finally found Cecil, they’d have a second bed, or at least a soft chair... He sighed through his nose and squirmed in his seat, his butt having fallen asleep.

“--and be sure if you see someone who might be a Stalker, to avoid them at all costs, and report them to the authorities. Even wolframites. You don’t know who could be helping the Quarter remain operating from the outside. It’s easy to mentally and emotionally shut off amid turbulent times such as these, but we need civilians right now more than ever to be our eyes and ears. We can’t let another tragedy such as this happen again.”

The dreg sweated, stopping short of slicking down his hair in a panic, and he hid a stress-swallow as he pretended he wasn’t scoping whether anyone else in the waiting room had noticed that he still hadn’t left yet despite having been dismissed. He saw someone in the shape of Augen walk back into the waiting room from a side hall, but stayed put, exhausted, watching him walk up to the admissions desk. The vampire still had his shawl drawn over his head. The nurse pointed at ‘Choly from behind the glass, and Augen turned and gave him a look of recognition before crossing the room to sit beside him.

“Where were you?” the dreg whined. “You don’t look like you were getting patched up.”

“I’m not billable.” Augen doubled up in the chair to slouch against the wall, and watched the television to avoid eye contact. “Besides, I can’t stand the sight of needles.”

“--Oh bullshit. I had to make the billable choice myself. Did I screw up. Did I royally fucking screw up?” He gestured with a grunt at his leg brace slung out in front of him. The moment it all fell out of him, he looked around because he couldn’t remember if any children were present.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Mumbling, the fish reached over to pat ‘Choly’s right knee without looking. “Come to think of it, I’m surprised that when they processed your serial, they didn’t put together you’re probably Cecil’s next of kin. Or that he’s definitely yours.”

“...His what now.”

Augen just glared at him a sorry moment, unblinking, then got back up to speak to the admissions nurse again. He pointed to ‘Choly and the nurse checked a few things, and nodded with a noncommittal shrug. After a moment, he grew animated and waved 'Choly over.

“Why don’t I ever get the easy explanation...” With a brow-knit groan and a persistent wheeze, the dreg made his way over to admissions.

“Melancholy Kara?” she confirmed. He nodded. “Yes, you’re filed as Mr. Cecil’s next of kin. But he’s been signed for.”

“--What.” Augen stifled himself from straightening to his full length. ‘Choly could tell the drape of the aquatic hybrid’s clothing disguised how he coiled on himself grasping for composure. “By whom!”

The nurse shrugged off Augen’s irritation and ‘Choly’s confusion, and continued skimming through the computer information.

“...His brother, it says. A Benjamin Cecil? Anyway. Here’s his room number. He’s still in ICU. But he’s stable, awaiting his thetic support to go online. If you want, you can wait for him to come out of anesthesia.”

From a slot on the wall came a slim printed ticket with the number ICB-3406 on it, and ‘Choly ripped it to take it and stare at it with a heavy, lost loathing. Augen took it from ‘Choly and pocketed it, and shot the nurse a thumbs-up and patted ‘Choly on the shoulder to shepherd him energetically toward the nearest elevator. The dreg went as fast as he could, and Augen had to keep slowing himself down.

“Well, that explains why you weren’t called for Cecil, and vice versa. You couldn’t respond to him because of the power failure, and he couldn’t respond to you because he was likely already in surgery by the time we got here.”

“...His... thetic support...” ‘Choly tried the elevator call button again, unable to sit still despite his lethargy. “He had to have augmentation.”

“He was in an explosion, ‘Choly. Just be glad some of him survived.”

They rode alone to the second story, and ‘Choly saw opportunity in the moment of isolation. Rather than express frustration, he started with gratitude, hoping to make Augen explain anything that was happening to him.

“You know, that wasn’t near as bad as with anything for Bell.”

“Just wait for the deferred interest. With creds, it just amounts to more creds than almost anyone could ever pay off. But with alternative treatments, you probably signed a bodily lease for them in the future to test something else of their choice.”

The vampire benignly side-eyed him, the exact same deadpan look of anticipation he’d given him over the flatbed snafu. When ‘Choly just stared back at him, he shut his scleric eyes, and smiled withdrawing into himself a bit.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before you vanished? Or when you were urging me to get seen by the ER?”

“My benevolent psychopathy precedes me. Seems I’ve mistaken your character. Forgive me for thinking such compromising positions would titillate you. I’ll do better to distract you from yourself in the future.”

‘Choly huffed, wide-eyed and haunted. The elevator opened, and three visitors waited for them to exit before rushing in. They walked down the pale grey hall to locate the nurse’s desk.

“I didn’t know he had a brother.”

“...Concerning.” Augen noticed a policeman standing watch at a door, and dropped his shawl back around his shoulders to smooth his hair a bit.

“No, the shard of metal surgically embedded in my shin is concerning,” he whispered, exasperated. “I am petrified what Cecil’s gotten roped into. Or what this person who says he’s his brother signed him up for. He--”

“--will be fine,” Augen hushed, doing his best to be calm for both of them. “He’s more resilient than you think.”

The lemon-cast BLT visor at the desk picked up at hearing approaching hushed conversation, and the two of them could tell from the squirm that the nurse was staring at Augen.

“Seems Mr. Cecil is popular tonight,” the nurse quipped. “You’ll have to wait until the police leave.”

“How did you--” ‘Choly noticed the police at that point, too, and stiffened, recalling the newscast from earlier.

“Call it a lucky guess,” was the curt answer. “The system prompts when room inquiries print out, so we know where to expect visitor traffic.”

Augen stroked ‘Choly’s shoulder, looking over his own at Cecil’s room as they turned their back to the nurse and the police.

“As much as I know you’re going to hate to hear it... but let’s go sit and wait in the elevator lobby. I’ll buy you a coffee from the machine.”

“Even their garbage coffee sounds fantastic right now,” ‘Choly resigned.

They sat in hospital silence at the armchair-and-couch lobby with its fake plants and two vending machines for only fifteen minutes or so before four police officers collected in the elevator lobby waiting to board. The police looked over ‘Choly and Augen, and they did the same of the police, hoping mirroring their behavior would more normalize their doing so. One of them snorted at Augen before the call button dinged and the doors opened for them to leave.

“Who you here to see?” she started, dropping the pale blue-white backlight of her BLT to stare them down. She acted like she already knew the answer, but for her own gratification needed to hear them say it.

“We’re here to see his boyfriend,” Augen spat as coolly as he could.

“Leave ‘em be, Annie. We’re coming back after breakfast. Come on, I don’t wanna hold the door anymore.”

Once the police were gone, both of them sighed in revulsion. ‘Choly chugged half his coffee once it was cool enough, then took the rest with him as they stood and walked back to the room just past halfway down the hall. Several rooms on the floor had been appointed guards. A policeman still stood at Cecil’s door, unfazed despite attention piqued, and they stopped in anticipation of being stopped.

“Melancholy, and... and Sterling,” ‘Choly stammered, narrowly remembering from before. “I’m Cecil’s boyfriend, his next of kin. We can come in now, right?”

“Yeah, if y’don’t mind company.” They stared at the policeman’s visor a fraction too long to be comfortable, and entered.

The equipment in the room beeped in almost uniform intervals of affirmation. The divider curtain had been pulled all the way back to the wall, indicating the high-profile patient did not share the room despite the volume of incoming patients from the disaster. The fluorescent cast of the bar light above the bed illuminated the red-headed patient in the bed, and all the network of wires and tubing ran to and from his body. The patient’s features had been ripped open but stapled back in a close approximation to a human face, and the sides of his head had been shaved for the installation of disc-like enamel nodes which hugged his skull and likely penetrated it: four, two at his temples and two just behind his earlobes. Many of the wires and tubing tied right into these nodes. Mechanical ventilation hissed and deflated his respiration in steady intervals.

They realized Cecil wasn’t alone.

“You dickweed. If only I could have gotten to you first...” the kneeling, motionless figure whispered. “I could have kept you out of billing altogether...”

To the patient’s side was a canid hybrid in a black long coat, with sandy fur and a shock of iridescent green-rust hair. He stooped to rest his head against Cecil’s hip, and had placed an unresponsive hand atop his muzzle. His rat-like tail flicked out from between the split in the back of the coat, only to shoot straight down against his leg when he recognized he wasn’t alone. Rounded ears piqued, he stood and glared at the two of them with piercing golden-green eyes under a heavy brow. The hybrid couldn’t stifle a snort-snarl when he saw Augen, and Augen took a few steps forward, not breaking eye contact between the two of them.

‘Choly couldn’t make sense of the two hybrids, and only cared to finally be where he needed to be after all this time. Tears running down his face, he slowly made his way over to the bed. The canid sidestepped to obstruct him, territorial impulses overriding his better judgment. When ‘Choly couldn’t help but gasp, Augen straightened up to his full length and stared the canid down. The long whisker-like feathers at his jowls twitched, and he crinkled his nose and snuffled to himself with an internalized snarl, doubling back across the room to pace in the empty half.

Trembling, ‘Choly reached out and ran his splinted fingertips over the back of Cecil’s bruised hand. The bright scent of antiseptics bit through his congestion. Not wanting to hurt him, he followed in kind of the canid, and placed Cecil’s hand atop his own. Though still unconscious, Cecil’s fingers reflexively albeit weakly contorted around ‘Choly’s hand, and ‘Choly came undone at the seams. His head ran as hot as his face ran wet, and Augen dove in to scoop the upholstered armchair under him before he could fall.

“Things just continue to make less sense.” Augen leaned down on the back of Choly’s armchair.

“Don’t I know it.” The canid couldn’t sit still.

“Cecil...?” ‘Choly held Cecil’s hand in both his own this time, and he leaned in, watching expectantly for Cecil to magically spring awake. His imagination went wild with speculation what other thetic components might lay beneath that hospital blanket.

“Even if he has come to, he can’t hear you.” The canid watched him as Augen watched him, his voice low and tremulous. “His halo is still charging. I negotiated best I could with the fine print, but slag it all! Look at him. They have him wired where he has to recharge. Just to hear. Like he’s some piece of equipment. Grafting could have fixed all the damage he sustained, and more. And if the ban hadn’t bankrupted me, I could have at least afforded his cred-billing--”

“--Maybe grafting could reverse it?”

‘Choly had merely responded naturally to the distress with an attempt to calm and reason. He really did not like this alleged brother’s emotionally compromised state, or Augen’s flighty agitation. In the moment, with his blood pressure wild, ‘Choly couldn’t process displays of emotion stronger than those of his own. The awareness it had been stated that Cecil was likely permanently deaf struck him dumb, and he could do little else but stare expectantly at the canid. Near incredulous, the canid glared at ‘Choly with alarm, and Augen joined in the scorn of him even saying it aloud. The dreg swallowed and froze.

“If only it hadn’t been banned,” Augen uttered with a squint, trying to lampshade the whole notion.

“...If only...” ‘Choly realized he’d drawn attention to the transparent fact none of the donor species which comprised Augen had been available when Vek had still been legal, and felt sorry, given that they didn’t know how this other hybrid felt about proto-hybrids, and given the policeman still stationed outside the room. His face loosened into dead folds, and he tried his best to focus on Cecil.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” The canid stood at the opposite side of the hospital bed, watching him. “I’m Ben. You must be the boyfriend admissions mentioned.”

“'Choly. And you must be the brother that I’ve never heard of until tonight.”

Ben smiled and laughed it off, his pointed teeth briefly visible back to his pointed molars.

“From the looks of it, I understand now why you didn’t respond to the hospital pages. I was beginning to worry the worst. I... I’m glad you’re here. That I get to meet whom he’s closest to right now. That he didn’t have to lose you on top of everything else he’s going through.”

“Not the best circumstances to be meeting.” ‘Choly glanced up at him and squinted, trying without glasses to pull the hybrid’s features into focus. That pointed remark wounded him. “I, what species are you? My glasses broke tonight, and I want to say you’re some breed of dog, or maybe wolf.”

Augen’s brow upturned as his eyes shot wide in fear, darting between the door and the hospital bed. In a shocked delight of being put on the spot, Ben’s ears folded flush against his head as he sucked on his dark lips, then bit his lower lip and shrugged with a weak laugh.

“Mmh... --arsupial which is no longer with us. Among other things.” He sideglanced to Augen, who patted at a visible sweat with the corner of his shawl. “One has to admire that nights like tonight prove the degrees of separation aren’t a myth.”

“Truly,” Augen nodded with a faint lip curl.

“I... should be going. The police said they would return once George was lucid and his thetics booted, and I’d rather not speak to them twice. Augen has my number.” He leaned over Cecil’s legs to pat ‘Choly on the shoulder with a smile. “Let me know how he gets along, will you? We can catch up when the temperature drops a spell.”

“--Wait wh.” ‘Choly watched in breathless confusion as Ben walked out.

“Get some rest,” Augen called off after him.

Once Ben had left, ‘Choly murder-glared the vampire. After a moment, his anger melted into confusion, and he touched his earlobe, thinking to the wolf hybrid at the confectioner’s. Even without his glasses, he could tell Ben had no facial jewelry of any kind.

“He... he wasn’t tagged.”

“NO SHIT, you little bugdick.” Augen slapped him in the back of the head. “Can you stop saying stupid fucking shit for five seconds? Sheisse, he’s got balls coming, knowing full well there’d be all these cops.”

“--OW. I... so that’s why you ghosted me earlier.” 'Choly rubbed at his head and got a sorry look. “Hey, could you put my reader on the charge pad on the nightstand? Might as well get some juice in it while we’re here.”

Augen did as requested, then sat on the ledge of the window. The two sat in the requested silence long enough for ‘Choly to drift off in the armchair holding Cecil’s hand.

“Wh-- whah--” Cecil rasped through the oxygen mask, watching ‘Choly expectantly. ‘Choly shot awake and put Cecil’s hand to his face, trying not to cry. “What--”

Augen briskly excused himself to alert the nurse that the patient had awakened.

“I’m so sorry,” the whisper strangled out of ‘Choly. He wiped his face off on his sweatshirt sleeve and frowned a moment, then did his best to smile at him as the realization hit him that he hadn’t heard ‘Choly, and couldn’t hear anything around him. His cataracted eyes locked on the subconjunctival hemorrhage that had subsumed the cornea of Cecil’s right eye, and once he knew Cecil was watching his face, he mouthed I love you.

Two nurses entered, and ‘Choly scooted his chair back to stay out of the way. One used a diagnostic wand to measure Cecil’s vitals, while the other pulled the top drawer of the nightstand open to retrieve from its charging cradle the thetic device: a contoured band which nearly formed a full circle. Once one nurse confirmed to the other that Cecil could come off intravenous aid for a while, he unplugged it all, and gestured for Cecil to sit up, holding the device in a way to insinuate it was time to fit him with it. The nurse folded out prongs in four places along the band, and snapped the halo neatly to Cecil’s head. His doing as instructed had the whole process go smoothly, and soon the nurses did a few auditory checks.

“Can you hear me, George?”

“It’s just Cecil,” he replied.

“Do you know where you are?”

“I’m in a hospital. There was a fire--”

“You’re in the HP, Mr. Cecil,” the second interjected. “Do you know what day it is?”

“It’s... April.”

The second nurse snapped her fingers, and she annotated that he looked to her. The first did the same.

“Everything seems to be in order,” the first instructed. “Since your boyfriend is here, we’re going to leave you be. The police will be here soon to speak with you, though, so make the visit short, if you would. After the police are done, a doctor will come with specifics regarding your procedure.”

“Procedure...?” Cecil trailed off, watching them leave. “I’m hearing everything with my brain, not my ears. It... it feels wrong.”

“But it works, right?” ‘Choly tried to smile at him, but Cecil was stuck taking in ‘Choly’s leg brace. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“You stayed home today... How did you get hurt so badly?”

“It’s... a long story. The hospital couldn’t reach me because of the mess Augen and I were in, so... we got to meet your brother,” he grinned.

Cecil’s features fell slack and his eyes widened into distance.

“I didn’t dream he was here, then.”

“‘Choly says you’ve never mentioned him before,” Augen interjected from the corner. “Do you know who he is?”

Cecil bit at his lip as though fishing for the sharkbites which the doctors had removed during his facial reconstruction.

“Not... a conversation for a place like this.”

Augen crossed his arms and slouched.

“Have you known the whole time?”

“He moved to Premier to open a Vek parlor. Got good with Vek. We lost touch. I’m just surprised the number they had on file for him still worked. That’s how long it’s been.” Cecil finally got to smiling, staring off into space. “We both have conservationist penchants. We... diverged radically. I collect books, and he... collects...” He gestured at Augen head to toe and got to wheezing when he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What was he doing here, Cecil,” he continued, every fold of his face unhappy.

“He was my second next of kin. It makes sense they couldn’t reach ‘Choly. You poor thing. I’m so glad you’re all right.” Cecil lapsed into clinginess and clutched at ‘Choly’s hand, and he had to lay back down, overwhelmed. ‘Choly crumbled into a crying mess again while Cecil relied on the oxygen supply to steady himself. “Really, I shouldn’t be so surprised he showed. We used to be so close.”

Augen, lay off him.” ‘Choly let out a congested, irritated whine.

The vampire was unfazed, in a panic over the law being involved.

“No, I mean... why was he here.”

Cecil just stared at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ultimately, Augen folded and came unhinged in an impatient string of ‘shit’s. He stormed out as calmly as he could, and exited down the opposite way of the nearest elevator.

Less than a minute later, the four police from before returned, but ‘Choly didn’t budge, too clingy to relent his long-sought proximity.

“Mister Cecil?” One stepped up to the bed with a reader, taking the lead. “Glad to see you’re still with us. We’re with the Tri-City Police. Are you lucid enough to tell us what happened?”

“You mean it wasn’t a fire?” Cecil’s face hardened, staring up at her.

“We suspect that someone set it. There were explosives involved. Do you remember anything unusual?”

“I, no. I was working late. A high school’s server had been returning 503′s all afternoon, and I couldn’t figure out why--” He tried to sit up and ‘Choly stopped him. “Why do you think there were explosives? Who would do that?”

“That’s why we’re here. To figure out what you saw, and what you know. You, you’re... Melancholy, yes?”

‘Choly nodded, petting Cecil’s hand.

“You were discharged from triage about three hours ago. Care to tell us how you were injured?”

He winced, remembering the bullet was in his bag, and he stared at his leg.

“I, yes. Yes. I had the day off, and I spent it with my friend Sterling. He was in here earlier, but he just had to leave. The, the bat hybrid. When the power went out, we were in a lift on his way taking me home. By the time we got out of the lift, all hell had broken out... Some idiot with a gun. A, a, a-- ah real gun. I don’t think they were looting or trying to rob us. I think they were trying to shoot Sterling ‘cause he’s a hybrid--”

“YOU GOT SHOT!” ‘Choly couldn’t keep Cecil down at this point, and he grabbed his boyfriend by the wrist to glare at him. The equipment started belting out rapid clicks and beeps, warning that he should lay down. He got real lousy and insisted ‘Choly lean into his lap so they could have as best a hug as they could manage. “Oh my god...”

“Tough luck, but hybrids are bad company, kiddo,” the sarcastic officer from before muttered as a caveat.

‘Choly stared hatefully through her obscuring visor, face twitching with rage.

“He brought me to the ER and helped me locate my boyfriend.” He barely kept from defending just how much trouble it was for the two of them to get from Jersey Proper all the way to Manhattan Premier, with the city drained of power, but he’d gotten savvy to how much he’d drawn attention to the wrong details all morning. “He’s not bad people.”

“Being a hybrid-- or being friends with a hybrid-- doesn’t-- justify getting shot at with a-- lethal weapon--”

Cecil snarled, imagining the officer would have said the same had his brother been the one on the other end of that aim. The diagnostic equipment let out a loud squealing chirp and everyone flinched when Cecil’s breathing lapsed. A nurse sprinted into the room, the one from the desk, and he scrambled to check the readings on the devices.

“You swore to me you would keep it civil!” As he took off the halo so they could get at the catheters installed in Cecil’s nodes, a second nurse joined in to help. “OUT! OUT OUT OUT--”

“--But,” the lead officer objected.

“ALL OF YOU! EVEN YOU, BOYFRIEND.”

‘Choly frowned, and barely remembered to grab his reader off the charge pad before doing as told. He returned to his place downstairs at the dining vestibule, in a horrid funk. He didn’t know where to go, and didn’t have a good place to sleep. He turned his reader back on, and once it booted up, he sent Augen a ‘thanks for nothing.’ Then he got himself another cup of coffee, furious that the hospital was bleeding him dry just to maintain his caffeine fix.

Some time later, Augen slipped into a seat beside him.

“It’s fair to be mad at me.”

“You’re gonna talk. Now.” ‘Choly grabbed a fistful of Augen’s shawl and held him where he could keep him. “How the hell do you know Ben? Did the same Vek artist do both your work or something?”

“--You could say that.” Augen shrugged at him to let go, and once freed he massaged at his temples. He leaned in with an almost silent hiss in ‘Choly’s ear. “That was Linnaeus, you fucking idiot.” He stole a sip of ‘Choly’s coffee.

‘Choly’s face drooped and he stared at Augen, trying to form a response.

“That’s... the guy who did your work? Are you trying to say he did his own work?”

“Slag your brain is shit from being up a whole day straight. There’s a reason you didn’t recognize his species, glasses or not. Except for him, the Tasmanian tiger is extinct. They say he pulled the sample himself. He’s one of the best proto-Vek artists in the city.”

“...Degrees... of separation. You seem... really haunted he’d show up amid all this. Maybe he’s allowed to be this distressed his brother almost died?”

“I never in a million years would have thought he’d risk getting arrested and forced therapy serum. Not even for family. And then two proto-hybrids showing up to see the same survivor in one night? That’s not going to get glossed over. Something’s wrong. Something’s really fucking wrong, ‘Choly.”

“Animals tend to get flushed out when their habitat’s threatened.” Rattled to abandon, he fished in his bag for his demolished confec bonbon. “Slag I’m glad I still have this after everything.”

Augen snatched up the wax paper before he could open it.

“What did they prescribe you?”

“Hydros. I’m fine,” he whined. “I’ve taken hydros for my joints and drunk for years.”

“Compromise. I get the confec, you get a drop of resin. Deal?”

“But... that’s a more potent confec...” ‘Choly frowned.

“A common misconception. Trust me. You have no filter and no self-preservation right now, bugdick. Let’s go somewhere more private to wax, hm? You wouldn’t drink in a hospital. Don’t get thrushed here, either.”

“Where could we even go? Shouldn’t we stay here?”

“Cecil’s not going anywhere anytime soon, and something tells me we both need some real food and a nap. Come on. I promise not to flake again. I know you’re practically blind right now.”

“Do... do they have an optometrist here?”

“The HP’s got everything in house. Come on. Food and sleep first. I need a break from this building, and I think you do, too. I’ll be your eyes until we come back later, all right?”

“I... fine. Can we at least see if they’ll let me have a wheelchair? My leg is throbbing and I don’t want to walk around Premier in my socks.”

“Hopefully, they’ll have one in stock to add to your tab,” he commented in agreement, helping him stand. “Sorry we don’t still have the one from yesterday.”

“I doubt we could have... kept it. How did you even flake so fast earlier, anyway? I saw you go the wrong way down the hall. Surely the police would have seen you in passing. There were like ten cops stationed in ICU.”

Augen left the question hanging in the air for dramatic effect, savoring it with a grin. Once he had ‘Choly in a chair and they were on their way, he leaned in to tell him in his ear.

“Dracula crawl. I don’t look part-salamander, so they didn’t even think to look up.”

‘Choly choked out a laugh.

“You fucking nerd-- Slag I need a smoothie and some vodka.”

“So it goes.”

Go to Next »»»

[the-uptake]

Book I: The 704 Book II: The world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds. Book III: With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence Book IV: The Sarpashana Solution

[[[[[ Table of Contents updated 2020.01.17 ]]]]]

As Tri-City adapts to the loss of its first four levels, it’s a futile struggle to remain entirely human. Only two constants stand fast: it’s getting harder to hide from the city, and things have got to change.

Abdications of Flesh (Revised 2018.08.30; 3646 words) Some outside perspectives of the consequences of the Stalkers’ Quarter quarantine. TW: Drugs and drug culture, police brutality, dysmorphia

Communion with Nimrod The stalkers establish the seven Communes.

Only the Vital Ones (Revised 2019.10.28; 5591 words) While ‘Choly tries to make peace with everything he’s done, Augen does his best to make peace with his humanity. TW: Substance abuse, alcohol, dysphoria, body horror, gore, societal cruelty mention.

Fluorescent Twilight (Last updated 2018.11.11; 5656 words) A delightful view of the quarantine, and an interrupted walk home. TW: Major public crisis and high death count, minor nsfw and drug use, violence and injury, multiple permanent main character disfigurements

On Good Terms and Conditions (Added 2019.03.02; 3600 words) The wonders of Hillock Plaza. TW: needle-related triage descriptions, and bombing mention.

Other Kin (Added 2019.03.07; 4952 words) ‘Choly and Augen finally get to Cecil’s hospital room. TW: Bombing discussion newscasts, major permanent disfigurement, ICU traction and life support stuff.

Medical waste and its real role in our lives (Added 2019.06.06; 5166 words) ’Choly and Augen’s afternoon in Manhattan Premier. TW: Is it body horror if it happens in complete darkness?

Faith in Higher Things (Added 2019.06.25; 5653 words) Reality starts bleeding. TW: Gore, stitches, metropolitan crisis onset

Concrete Boxes Made of Ticky-Tacky (Edited 2019.10.26; 3329 words) ’Choly and Cecil return home from the HP. TW: Disaster area navigation

Strange declensions of skin and musculature (Revised 2020.01.10; 5987 words) Melancholy arts and crafts hour. TW: Gore, stitches, needles, drugging, body horror, hard trypo warning

The 704, 1|4|0|SA (Revised 2016.09.09; 2684 words) The haze takes its toll on Torber and Galen. TW: Extreme mutilation, body horror, forcefeeding

Between You and Me (Added 2020.01.17; 4427 words) Cecil has a heart to heart. TW: Shaving, alcohol, drugging, hangovers of both kinds, bondage, epidemic, isolation, bombing survivorship mention, descriptions of lethal body horror.

See Black, See Bloom Tri-City’s denizens begin to grow things themselves.

Seasons of Derangement Let’s host Potluck. Likely to branch out into 3-5 chapters. TW: Drug culture

With the devotion of an earl marshal (Revised Feb 2015) When none of the Potluck can get tickets to Ivory Rasmussen’s gala, they aim to throw a lavish Potluck of their own. And despite an absentee Augen, Bernadette has something special. TW: Body horror, social drug use

MagicK Ultra The confectioner mastermind behind Resin throws a gala to celebrate his self-reinvention, and Augen aims to crash it. TW: Fetish party??? I don’t even know how to brand this thing. Heavy social drug use, body horror

So Watch As I Start to Smile Augen learns his lesson crashing the parties of complete strangers. TW: Body horror, gore

Dying by the roadside (picnic) After Bernadette jumped the shark, ‘Choly can only fatalistically aim to outdo her and the rest of the group TW: Voluntary abduction?

[crown-eater]

Only the Vital Ones

[ With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence, 3.] [ The Uptake (table of contents) ]

defunct outdated draft. you want this one

“In those days, desires weren’t allowed to become reality. So, fantasy was substituted for them–films, books, pictures. They called it ‘art.’ But, when your desires become reality, you don’t need fantasy any longer, or art.”

–Amyl Nitrate, “Jubilee”

The small kitchen table in Cecil and ‘Choly’s studio apartment abutted a full-height open-frame modular shelving unit which doubled as a space divider. Slumped at it, before ‘Choly was a quaint parchment-and-string box, a small kitchen knife, and his reader on a kickstand. He rubbed at his face in a dull restlessness, staring down some of the pieces he had in his drafts. Ultimately, he stood and paced a good bit the long narrow space which ran from one end of the apartment to the other, a track which functioned not unlike a hallway.

“Are you all right?” Cecil asked from the loft-bunk in the front corner of the room, not looking up from  where he’d curled up with a physical book. “I made more coffee before I got comfy, if you want.”

“Yeah, trying to work on some writing. A hot drink sounds good, really.”

'Choly rinsed out his mug and poured himself a fresh cup, and sat again. Then, he snipped the string with the knife and unfurled the wrappings to reveal a wax-coated box. His glasses came off and lay across the table from him, as he continued massaging at his cheeks and chin and neck marbled with scars. Abruptly, he switched frames to his messenger app and clicked on Augen’s username. A heavy sigh came out of him, and rather than initiate conversation he produced from the small box a chalky-looking pastel ball the size of a fruit. With a small detachment he smoothed out the parchment with his free hand, setting the ball down atop it with the other. He also fished from the box a plastic bottle containing a thick amber substance, which he set by his drink. Drawing up the knife, he was about to make a cut, but stopped short.

“I got confec earlier. Y’want a slice?” He would have mentioned the resin, but didn’t want to share that.

“Hm? Yeah, I’ll take it.” Inviting it, Cecil didn’t question the acquisition.

The dreg pressed the knife into the edge of the ball, which had a mealy consistency somewhere between soap and fudge. A quarter-inch butt fell to the paper, and he got up and took it over to his boyfriend, who reached down to accept it. Cecil put it in his mouth, a dry ineffectual suck, and sank back down into his nest of comforters to return to his book. Once he’d returned again to his reader, ‘Choly made two more slicing motions and doled one disc for himself, letting the hyssop-like bouquet dissolve on his tongue as he sank into his chair and stared at the messenger window he’d opened.

ketherphorbia: what are you up to tonight, fish dick?

9augen: admiring the moon, if it really interests you. its full tonight

ketherphorbia: you’re such a goth omg

9augen: im taking a break from scavving the ocean bed of the bay. its not a bad thing to pause and admire natural beauty. honestly im surprised i can see it from beneath the surface of the water

ketherphorbia: you can? that’s nuts

ketherphorbia is typing…

9augen: i found another prosthetic eye earlier. i think that makes 5 now

ketherphorbia has stopped typing.

ketherphorbia: do you ever write to get shit out of your system? like. not in a carnal sense. sort of in a carnal sense. an emotional sense. a purgative sense?

ketherphorbia: also that sounds neat. dare i say eye-catching

9augen: terrible

9augen: im not sure i see what youre getting at, but most of the time my writing takes a particular headspace. that, or as you insinuated, a good inspiration does wonders to get me in the mood for it as well

ketherphorbia is typing…

ketherphorbia: you remember how i was writing stories about me getting with the geek, but then i stopped abruptly? the last wip i posted before i stopped, was right after i found out that the geek and larva were the same person. early on, the reasons i couldn’t reconcile with finishing the piece were because of how badly the encounter went when i first met him. then he caught me stalking him and.

ketherphorbia: you remember that right? i know i sent you a selfie of the black eye he gave me

9augen: you couldnt shut up about it for a month.

ketherphorbia: he even tracked me down, what, five weeks later? and things got super weird. i’m still trying to process everything that happened. 

ketherphorbia: forewarning i’m thrushed

9augen: hoping a mouthful of wax would help you focus? noble, i suppose

9augen: this is about the walls, isnt it.

ketherphorbia: not quite. and yet exactly

ketherphorbia: i just. i owe it to him to get the details right, don’t i? it feels real lousy to even consider writing a nonfictional account of him, and yet

ketherphorbia: i feel like i need to get the very concept of him in print to get it out from inside of me. i know it’s already been two years since the walls went up, but i don’t think it’s possible for me to forget even for a day

ketherphorbia: how do you stay motivated to write something that hurts and arouses you, both in ways nothing else has ever really managed to?

9augen: a difficult question. but, perhaps a better reply is another question: who are you writing this for?

ketherphorbia has stopped typing.

ketherphorbia: …i’d say it was for me, but i feel like i need to put his ghost to rest. i’d say it was for him, but it’s also in hopes of jamming my brain because something more accurate could exist of him. and i’d say it was for you or any of my followers, but i… don’t even know if i can bring myself to post it after completing it…

ketherphorbia: i gotta have a second slice

9augen: youre already waxing, man. i dont blame you for wanting to melt, but i know you dislike worrying cecil

ketherphorbia: we’re both thrushed tbh. i could eat the whole confec right now and i’m considering it. gives everything such a *veneer*

9augen: seeing what youd write from that would be entertaining to say the least. that is, if you even got words on screen.

ketherphorbia: …you’re right

9augen: you never did tell cecil about the geek, did you? have you ever wanted to?

ketherphorbia: i told him about chalcedony. and he hasn’t said anything but i know he knows about the geek. i don’t think i will ever get used to how open he is to it. it’s as though he believes leaving me untethered keeps me more faithful. he’s not wrong, though, i guess

ketherphorbia: i miss your face

ketherphorbia: i miss you sandwiched between us. skin like glue

9augen: stop wasting your high on me and go burn yourself out on your writing, bug dick. i need to get back to work anyway

ketherphorbia: …yeah…

[crown-eater]

Book I: The 704

Book II: The world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds.

Book III: With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence

Book IV: The Sarpashana Solution

[[[[ Updated 2018.11.11 ]]]] Added part two to “Fluorescing into wounds,” and went back to cross-linking the Dunco chapters to their masterpost on my sin. I’m garbage, yes, I know

As Tri-City adapts to the loss of its first five levels, it’s a futile struggle to remain entirely human. Only two constants stand fast: it’s getting harder to hide from the city, and things have got to change.

Abdications of Flesh (added 2018.08.30; 3646 words)

Some outside perspectives of the consequences of the Stalkers’ Quarter quarantine.

TW: Drug culture, dysmorphia, police brutality mention

Just a series of brown jackets in varying stages of decay

The stalkers establish the seven Communes.

And Now a Break in Our Regularly Scheduled Programming (16.502 words; five parts; last updated 2017.08.16)

Duncan Cranford works the CNC equipment for a popular Thetic companion company. What could go wrong? (Henry and Jeremy are the same character, but I’ve never gone back and fixed it.)

Main TWs: Variably NSFW with cartoonish injury peppered in

Only the Vital Ones (4395 words, in two parts; added 2018.09.12)

While ‘Choly tries to make peace with everything he’s done, Augen does his best to make peace with his human side.

TW: Drug use, alcohol, dysphoria, body horror

The world was beginning to fluoresce into wounds (5656 words; updated 2018.11.11)

A delightful view of the quarantine, and an interrupted walk home.

TW: Major public crisis and widespread loss of life, minor nsfw and drug use, violence and injury

Medical waste and its real role in our lives

Hoping to contribute to their access to reality disconnect, Augen does his best to include ‘Choly and Cecil in his everyday life.

TW: Body horror, drug culture

Strange declensions of skin and musculature (Added Jan 2015)

‘Choly does some arts and crafts.

TW: Gore, stitches, multiple major permanent character disfigurement

The 704, 1|4|0|SA (in two parts–I; revised 2016.09.09; 2684 words)

The haze takes its toll on Torber and Galen.

A Season of Derangement

Let’s host Potluck.

With the devotion of an earl marshal (Added Feb 2015)

When none of the Potluck can get tickets to the Gala, they aim to throw a lavish Potluck of their own. And despite an absentee Augen, Bernadette has something special.

MagicK Ultra

The confectioner mastermind behind Resin throws a gala to celebrate his self-reinvention, and Augen aims to crash it.

So Watch As I Start to Smile

Augen learns his lesson crashing the parties of complete strangers.

Dying by the roadside (picnic)

After Bernadette jumped the shark, ‘Choly can only fatalistically aim to outdo her, and all the others who attend Potluck.