rehandle | saltburnt inbox

[ Leaving Stephen on read because his feelings got hurt. ]

[ It's maybe an hour later. Ten minutes to wait for a response that isn't coming, forty minutes of his phone launched onto his bed so he can throw himself into an angry bout of drills, then a shower, then another five or so to drip all over his bedroom floor, dampening the sheets as he huffs down onto his bed, picks up his phone, reads back through the conversation from its beginning. ]

You don't get a lot of pushback, do you?

Edited 2025-01-17 06:55 (UTC)

My whole life has been "pushback".

[ It's why this conversation is half trauma response. It's why it's disappointing but unsurprising, that his brief vision of solving this together was killed so quickly. He has always done the hard and necessary things alone. ]

[ It offers some reminders: first, that he knows only the skimmed surface of this man, the things he's chosen to share and the things he's wrung from his body; second, that they are two very different people, on a fundamental level he can do nothing about.

Third, while his people skills may be better than they once were, there's significant room for improvement when his first response is a deep breath and a sigh. He takes a couple of minutes. Tries to step off the defensive offense and try a different approach - maybe clarity. ]

I told you to stop because I'm a doctor, a scientist, and a sorcerer, and in that context I have concerns for your wellbeing. I didn't run to find you a laboratory not because I don't think the inquiry's valuable but because I'm not about to foster a dynamic where you think you can wield your health as a bargaining chip and I'll fold. It encourages harm.

[ Unfortunately, even clarity comes with a high horse. He is what he is. ]

My health and wellbeing is just fine, thank you for asking.

I offered you a way to have what you wanted. But you feel entitled to mindless obedience. Pass.

Silco. You're experimenting with things that you've already identified are capable of altering one's body beyond the quick fix capacity of any modern medical supplement I've heard of. You don't know that you're fine.

I know what sick feels like.

At this point I've gone through withdrawals at least three times, in escalating severity. I suspect those who are deliberately using this might die if they stop abruptly, but could taper to something more managable. Part of the problem is it's difficult to be precise with dosage of a topical cream.

You're fucking with me.

[ He's not. He knows he's not. But he's so incensed that he can't not account for the possibility. ]

This would have been a more pleasant conversation if I was.

Stephen.

You've gone through withdrawals of escalating severity at least three times, you think cold turkey would kill people, you're still using this shit, and you're fine because you're not actively sick right this second.

No.

[ Immediately, violently defensive. ]

Are you listening to what I'm telling you? You need to make sure the clinic has a supply of this drug in the most measurable form you can manage, extra staff for the incoming burden, and at the very least extra saline and — whatever you use to treat epistaxis.

[ Mental notes made, calculations set running, intrigue at knowledge and terminology tucked away, impressed with the assessment of the situation, thoughts already moving to the local clinic staff rotation, to wondering if they'll heed him when he issues a warning, to whether the manor is already as they speak adapting to accommodate pending needed. But all of it goes on the back-burner within the bounds of this conversation, because - ]

I hear you. Do you hear yourself?

How is this any different to the Shimmer you supply me with weekly. I know my own limits.

You tell me you NEED the Shimmer. You have prolonged experience with it, and I have enough involvement in the process of reproduction to have faith that it's as stable as it can be, for what it is.

You don't need this. We don't know what it is, we DO know it's being introduced by the manor at the eventual detriment of everyone using it, and that using yourself as a test subject any further than you already have isn't going to get us any closer to understanding its base components or the consequences of use than observing those who are going to keep using it anyway will.

[ Pause. Wait. ]

Are you addicted?

I don't think it's chemically addictive — those who are concerned with their appearance might find it so, or I suppose avoidance of withdrawal is a kind of addiction. Neither of which apply to me.

And you're right, that there's little more I can learn through applying it.

[ A better reason than just, because I say so. He's considering it now, at least. Judging how much of his resistance is pride, how much is intellectual curiosity, and how much is the whisper of the substance itself promising him perfection. He's a vainer creature than he thinks he is, after all. ]

[ He lets that sit, giving himself a minute for the cloak of obstinance to slip from his own shoulders as it's slipped from Silco's. Starts typing again before it's been so long that he might risk seeming as though he's ignoring him, not looking to start another fight. ]

Sorry. I know I can be abrasive.

I'll help you look for a laboratory. You're right too, it's worth us understanding what we're up against.
Just please stop using yourself as a subject.

[ Sorry and please and he caves instantly. ]

All right.

Your opinion is important to me, you know.

[ Oof. Like a kiss right to the ego. ]

I didn't mean to devalue yours.

It's not that.

I'm concerned you'll presume to have authority over me just because I showed weakness in our more intimate moments. I hate being told what to do. I'd rather roll the dice on this place's impermanent death than be forced into capitulation.

Showed weakness when?

[ He's not sure he's had many less obliging sexual partners in his life, which is proving to be half of the joy. ]

I presume to have authority over any and everyone where my expertise is relevant to the topic at hand. It frustrates me when I'm shut down in situations when I know my experience qualifies me to act or advise decisively, and I'm not kind about making that known. That's on me, the amount of my life I've devoted to my vocations, the extent to which I value my own opinion as a result and the limited time I've spent caring whether or not other people like the way I speak to them over the course of my career.

It had nothing to do with you. Or the sex that we have. Which, by the way, is not a weakness.

Edited ('or indirect' a lie) 2025-01-17 13:14 (UTC)

I see.

[ Not very forthcoming, but he needs to go chew that over a little more. Resist the urge to reflexively start arguing. So there's a pause. ]

All dynamics are a power struggle. With you I lose more frequently than I don't. That's all I meant. But thanks, for explaining.

Are you sure? As I see it, you always equalize pretty quickly. But even if you didn't, it wouldn't make a difference. I'm not in the habit of assuming that winning a game is any kind of reflection on where we stand when we stop playing.

[ Because they have been playing. Playfighting: losing isn't a real loss. Nobody's taking anything from anyone, doing any harm. Passing pleasure back and forth, sex or not, is a gift, not a reflection of standing. Still... ]

It might be something to talk about. If we're going to carry on.

[ The mortifying ordeal of being known aside, things are clearly already more complicated than their easy in person exchanges would suggest. Better they both know where they're coming from. ]

[ He's got just enough ReSculpt in his system that he has to sit with this, too, talk himself down off the ledge of that if. ]

There's a lot we should talk about.

[ Vander's arrival. Jinx's instability — the slow but seismic shifts in their dynamic. Silco's Resculpt findings. Strange's time in that other world. And sure, the sex. ]

Are you free for a meal before my withdrawal starts? If all goes as usual I'll be poor company by tomorrow morning.

Yeah. Let's eat. Out, or something more private?

[ 'Out', like the various options the house has to offer are ever really that.

A strange flare of nerves shares the face of its twin, excitement, and they flip back and forth, unsure which is which for a while. He stifles them both by laying back on his bed. Smiling faintly, breathing deeply, rubbing thumb and finger lightly over closed eyes. The newness of this makes even the prospect of uncomfortable conversation seem appealing, a compliment - sign of mutuality fizzing in his chest. The looming reality of Silco's hopefully final dance with ReSculpt withdrawal doesn't go forgotten, pocketed for later. ]

Privacy. Preferably not my rooms, which have no such thing guaranteed. If you're craving something in particular, I've found the staff are typically willing to go and fetch it.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject