No offense is taken. A concealed blink and tug of his scarred grin response enough to hearing the other laugh. Even if so abruptly. Better to have a bit of humor to break any lingering tension.
Gabriel listens with clear interest, full attention on Francis as he speaks, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about his physical appearance. Membrane’s own mutation and mutilations filling in the blanks. Noting the loss of the man’s usual demeanor and confident speech.
He wants to prod with various questions. ‘Did your original teeth fall out?’ 'Was the affect to your skin instantaneous or progressive?’ 'Are all changes outward or has your physicality changed as well?’ What colour were his organs? The uses or practically of his serpentine tongue? His mind runs wild with the limitless possibilities, but he quickly reels himself back in.
This was his colleague, and he would like to think his friend.
A prosthetic knee bounces as he mulls it over, setting aside his empty mug. Meeting the man’s eyes, despite his own remaining hidden from view.
“It sounds to me as if you’re suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder or as it was once referred to as, Multiple Personality Disorder.” He speaks honestly, gently as he does with his patients. Though Francis is so much more than that, “It’s possible that your failure and the physical changes you’ve gone through were so traumatic, that you created this ‘alter ego’ as a way to cope and rationalize what you were going through.”
“It’s not uncommon for your alter to be, like a stranger. Or have destructive tendencies, such as self sabotage and self persecution. Amnesia is also quite common. Though every individual is unique.”
“There are treatments, mainly therapeutic, that may help you better manage this condition if it’s what you’re contending with. Sadly despite even my genius, it’s not as simple as finding a cure.”
A pang of shame and self resentment. For what he’d done to Dib, his own failures and how they haunted him. But he shoves it back down, before he can remember how his son wailed and begged when carted off to the asylum. His own ‘treatments’ when they tried to fix what was wrong with him, or his mother’s ‘alternative remedies’.
Gabriel hesitates, but leans forward to rest his gloved hand atop Francis’. It doesn’t change what he’d done, but he can at least try to be better. For Dib, and for his friend. For himself.
“I’m happy you told me this. Whatever it is… If I can help you I will,” He takes a moment, “Francis, I give you my word. You don’t have to face this alone. I’ve got your back.”
If he’d been holding something, it very well might have cracked from the pressure his closed fists are exerting.
It takes every fiber of his being not to slap the hand away in frustration. Membrane was, predictably, trying to help. Though Venomous doubted he could ever actually understand enough to do so. Well, there was one way to make him understand, but he’d rather die before willing Shadow into existence.
are you sure? you’ve come this far, little tattletail~
Steeling his nerves, forcing all his control of that little ink blot back into its cage, he grit sharp teeth and shook his head. No no, he had the wrong idea. Francis himself wasn’t even sure how to explain it. His notes had been destroyed (though he now knew Shadowy was to blame) and he couldn’t for the life of him remember what all he’d done to get like this. All in a lame senseless bid to get his power back. One that had failed.
Sure, he’d made the best of it and he was happier in his own science than he could’ve ever been with POINT, but had it been worth it? A new life, a new bid on purpose, financial stability, a job.... but with such a literal dark side? If their positions had been switched, he would’ve thought the same thing about mental trauma and coping mechanisms. Something like Shadowy didn’t just happen every day, nor to just any man.
“It’s not -- It’s not that. You don’t understand. It’s... something else. Possession? Body swapping? Hell I don’t know--”
It all sounded like something out of a bad science fiction movie, and his other hand came up to squeeze the prosthetic one. It wasn’t like he could possibly hurt him, anyway. Shadowy might, but Shadowy was on a tight leash. If Francis let up for even a second, he was sure it would end in disaster.
“I’ve got no idea what you’d technically call it, but he isn’t me. He’s something I made, but he’s not just in my head. I’m telling you, Gabriel, he’s not like anything I’ve seen before. He’s physical, he’s dangerous, he’s--”
better not get TOO chatty, fran. I might get antsy and come play anyway.
Purple energy crackled at the lights overhead, though if one wasn’t watching it was easily missed.
“He’s a disease and I NEED to get rid of him. I’m running out of time, I can just feel it.”
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