[ A second to think on that. It's possible. Just as possible she was protecting herself, and Danny. Ultimately, right now, it doesn't matter either way. ]

Curses and cults.

[ Here we go, then. ]

When we arrived there, we each found ourselves marked. The marks connected our minds, we were all - telepathically linked. But they also symbolised the presence of what they called our duchozwierz.

[ There's no way to say this that doesn't sound unbelievable outside of the context of truth, so he's just going to have to say it how it was. A hand drifts up to Silco's nape, finds comfort stroking over the skin there, edging fingertips up into his hair. When he speaks, it's calm - maybe a little too calm.

His most recent run-in with the thing inside him wasn't long enough ago for this to feel quite like the rote recollection of distant, immutable facts it sometimes could. ]

If we didn't sate sexual or violent urges, we'd begin to change. Left unchecked, the transformation would be total, and monstrous. We'd lose all control of ourselves and our instincts until the creature we became had done enough to satisfy. Or until it was killed. So that's curses.

[ A jolt of his chest, one sharp cough of laughter. But if he's right, he's right. ]

When the fit's right.

[ A reminder of where they find themselves as a consequence of his deliberate indulgence, thank you. A little hint that he hasn't been quite so prolific since arriving here. ]

Cults was a consequence of a monster set loose. Somebody turned, and in turning gained the ability to bend wills. He caught me out in the woods. I fought it, but three days later I came out changed too. Me and a handful of others - including Alicent, Aegon and Eddie. We all did things we never would've otherwise, but the bond itself was intense. It wasn't something we made much effort to shake when it was over.

[ A stillness here. Held breath. Has he ever been asked to describe it before? ]

... Like tar, to start.

[ Like tar. And with the first hurdle leapt, the rest runs free. Momentum building, carrying him with it. ]

I'd leak this black, viscous fluid. Inconvenient, but fine - until figuring out that it could interfere with sensory input, muddle up nervous responses. Further along I'd start to feel it trying to get out. Fingers squeezing between my organs, stroking up along my spine. Later stages, the fluid that had made its way out would start to form into forearms. Hands. [ A wet cough of a laugh here, aware of how on the nose that is, aware that it likely says something he's never taken the time to examine. He doesn't really want to know. ] When the ones still inside crawled up my throat, I blacked out.

[ So he doesn't have the rest. It only really got that far the once, and while he knows he must've sated it somehow, the people who suffered it either didn't see it, didn't know who it was, or didn't care to tell. So that's all he's got.

And so much for keeping the mood intact. In a bid not to linger, a lacklustre joke: ]

I don't particularly recommend making the trip.

[ It startles him right out of the pleased lull that nip and the chasing kiss, the gradual undoing, had settled him into. Red, stark against pale skin— it takes Stephen a moment to remember that Silco's anticipating a reckoning.

So after a couple of wide-eyed seconds, he gets his wits back about him. Nods, gets an arm underneath himself to push up into something less comfortably sprawled so he can snatch a handkerchief from the air like a regular street magician, offering it to Silco without much thought for the image. ]

Okay.

[ He skips over disappointment altogether in the shift to care, pragmatism an easy switch to flick. The hand still at Silco's nape curls, silent comfort, thumb brushing the skin beneath his ear as Stephen's attention goes over to the table and its plates of cooling food. Later, he decides. Easy enough to deliver some leftovers to be tested by the suite's fellow inhabitant after Silco's as comfortable as it's going to be possible to be for the next while. ]

Let's get you back.

[ A blink - then a catch of air between teeth as he huffs a laugh. He's grateful for the clarity, for the confirmation of interest, but it only really helps to fuel his instincts. Even under current circumstances. ]

And here I thought this was going well.

[ Well enough to make that obvious. It's just a tease, prizing himself up from the chaise to join Silco, crowding in after him in spite of the blood and the man's pending descent into his own little hell to nudge his nose to his temple, press a kiss to the hill of a cheekbone where the skin will soon enough be more ravaged than it is now. ]

I look forward to it. [ Murmured while still close. ] Come on.

[ And he peels away, fingers already slipped into his sling ring, tearing a throughway to Silco's room out of his own. ]

[ The bathroom is clean and its nest's sheets set outside the bedroom door for the staff to collect, Stephen caught on the walk back with a new batch ready to create some safe new fortress around the toilet when the hushed mutters of sleep stop. He doesn't notice. Not until the frantic shifting of sheets and mattress preclude a fully conscious voice and he stops in his tracks, caught.

The shout doesn't seem to put even a dent in his confidence. He doesn't even have the decency to look sheepish. Instead, he sets the sheets down on the edge of Silco's busy desk and crosses toward him, unperturbed by his obvious unwelcome. ]

Here.

[ He's pouring water from a full jug stationed at Silco's bedside. There's a bowl down there too, some clean glasses for if something goes awry when trying to take in fluids. He holds one out, half-filled, as if this were a morning after a night before and not - what it is. ]

[ A twitch of his hand swats the glass from mid-air before it can hit home, everything costing enough here that it hits the ground with a dull thud and does not break. It doesn't spare him getting mildly drenched, but what was he really expecting?

He gets it. Were their roles reversed, he's not sure he'd appreciate the uninvited interruption of his private suffering either. But he's read the notes now. He's not going to leave him to rot through it by himself. ]

In a minute.

[ Maybe. Possibly not. Great wet stain over his chest and arm, hand lifting to wipe splattered water off of his face, he bends for a second attempt. This time doesn't bother with the jug, just lets water fill the glass from base to another half way. Doesn't offer it out quite far enough to snatch. Quick learner. ]

Drink.

[ This time the distance is too great and the man himself too weakened and too angry for his aim to stand a chance. It makes it most of the way, but Stephen need do nothing but let it thump to the floor, where this time thick crystal of the glass cracks but does not shatter. ]

You need that.

[ Speaking of his pillow, but if he throws it Stephen catches it on his walk further into the room, stopping far enough from the bed to not impose any further on the cornered man's territory than he already has. Holds onto it for now, for the same reason he hadn't made easy pickings of the glass a second time. ]

You were the one who wanted to make sure we were ready with treatment.

[ So here he is, resident physician, at your service. And maybe that's a slight twist of Silco's fierce run of suggestions for the clinic's preparations, but it's the best argument for his presence he has in a pinch. ]

[ It's one of few situations they've found themselves in so far where it doesn't necessarily gratify him to win. Silco isn't protesting solely out of stubbornness: he's distressed. There's no revelling in that. ]

Thank you.

[ Something to offset the surrender - make it a favor, or acknowledge the cost. No matter what it is, he does need his help, and now Silco's relented to accept it Stephen backs down on the attitude too, moving back across the room to him. Knee on the bed so he can settle the caught pillow behind him while he's hunched up in his frustration. When he next deigns to look at him, he'll find Stephen with another glass, more water.

There's no hesitation in offering it this time. ]

Go easy.

Silco.

[ A mild scolding. He's not here to relish in the consequences of his actions, especially not when they're doing him harm. Stephen's watchful as he sips, taking in deterioration, making diagnostic note of the state of him. ]

Will you let me look at your face?

[ Look at here meaning examine, not just perceive. He can do that perfectly well from where he is, but it doesn't look as it always has, something alive and working to worsen it under the skin. He wants ideally to touch, check, follow the old trails of Shimmer as he unlocks a fresh concern of magics colliding, reacting adversely deep down in the tissues. ]

[ It's bad. Gentleness will only prolong things, so he opts for efficiency, chin taken in firm but careful hand. Face tilted, skin pinched and drawn taut under fingers bathed in a sanitising sheen of golden light. He finds the traces of magical rot, tests the depth of split skin, notes the hues of the body's responses to infections within - working quickly, conscious of the twitch and restraint of hands below.

When he lets him go, it's with a sweep of the thumb over his undamaged cheek, a small apology for hurt and indignity. ]

I'm going to get supplies. This needs flushing and protection, and I want samples of your infection. You'll need antibiotics. [ Clarity feels only right, given he's stolen the same. Expression tense with concern. ] I won't be long, but sleep if you can. I'll wake you when I need to.

[ A glance toward the bedside has another glass of water full and waiting as Stephen makes to stand, ready to go in search of what he needs. ]

Bathroom's fresh if you need it.