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*'''Log: I am Elisa's miracle, the answer to their hubris, and they sow the seeds of their own destruction''' *'''Cast:''' [[Character :: Yuliana Kafim]], [[Character :: Alma Stirner]], [[Character :: Elisa Kafim]] *'''Where: Colombo, Sri Lanka''' *'''Date: 2022-12-31''' *'''Summary''': ''Yuliana brutally assaults Alma and herself after reading a chain of correspondence from the main scientist of her project, Dr. Devi. Alma manages to restrain her long enough for her to calm down, though -- and reveals that she also knows a thing or two about the EXAM System which used to plague Yuliana. Elisa appears just in time to answer all Yuliana's questions and offer her all the care she deserves. (Content warning: violence, self-injury, human experimentation and dehumanisation, a little mind control, no really, this log is a lot.)'' ---- [[Category:Logs]] [[Category:Phase 1, Turn 2]] <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Yuliana doesn't go to New Year's parties. Wen and Parminder usually go hit something together -- they invite Cascade, but they don't generally want to come along. Yuliana isn't the sort to join them, either. Of course, she attends all sorts of social functions for ''work,'' and she loves the opportunity of a good party. But when it comes to attending them for fun... Anyway. The last day of the year ticks down, and for once, Yuliana isn't alone anyway. Once they're done with dinner -- Alma cooked, of course, and she'll be putting things into her very fancy dishwasher too -- Yuliana retires to the study, to go over some notes. Alma ''is'' allowed in here, as it happens; it's where Yuliana keeps the computers, so it would be awfully inconvenient if she were barred from the room. She'll be found at her keyboard, typing in something, backspace, backspace, commit. A case she's working on. She brings her work home with her; before Elisa, it's what she was married to, and she's still very diligent. It's easy to miss, with how casual and familiar her manner is. Yuliana doesn't ''look'' like a good soldier, on the face of it -- she slouches, she complains, she goes straight to a first-name basis. It's a very deliberate kind of rebellion: one built on results, lest anyone accuse her of being replaceable. Hence the work computer taken home. Yuliana wheels away from ''that'' one, though -- the camera is capped, on top of its monitor -- to turn to another computer, instead. This is her personal machine, and while it, too, is naturally being monitored, she has a little more leeway to try and slip through the cracks without government protections. There are other things she can do too, of course, like unplugging the networking before she turns it on. (Parminder has taught her all kinds of tricks.) She reaches over to a little disc cabinet beside the computer, and pulls out one in particular. She stares at it, for long moments, fingers hovering by the insert slot. The data from Denver... </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> Despite her ace pilot status, Alma's always been a ''little'' bit domestic. She wasn't when she was younger, but nostalgia is a powerful force, and sometimes the only thing you can do to get those fond memories is make new ones. Accordingly, she doesn't really mind cooking and handling the dishes; Yuliana has a ''lot'' of important work to do, and she's here to support her in that. There's something vaguely melancholic about doing it here, now -- but that's such a low, deep thrum in her brain that she can ignore it. It's not long before she makes her way into the study, though. After all, it's just shoving dishes into a dishwasher. That part's easy. "Do you want a second set of eyes on this, or do you want me to get out of your hair?" comes Lt. Stirner's pleasant, enthusiastic voice from near Yuliana. "It seems like it must be something serious, so just let me know how I can help you the best!" It ''sounds'' nice enough... but the request comes a ''little'' bit from a place of anxiety. The last time she'd tried to help, she'd done so much damage... </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> "Ah, Alma," Yuliana greets her, a shade distracted. It's tragedy that she doesn't thank her for her hard work. "Come in, come in. I don't need to focus right now, so it's fine." She ''has'' dismissed Alma from her hair, working on some of these problems, but -- not terribly often. Sabotage is a team activity! "I was just about to go over some data I found in a colony... out in Denver, have you heard of it?" She doesn't expect she would have. "I'd never visited the place personally," she goes on, with a light shrug of a shoulder. "Not before it was ruined, in any case. But my name happened to come up in some correspondence files... anyone would be curious, don't you think?" Her fingers tap, tellingly, on the edge of the data disc. A little tension at the corners of her brow, the corners of her lips. She's more nervous than she's letting on, especially given how she escaped from Denver two weeks ago. If she's so curious, why hasn't she looked at it before now..? </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "I don't think so -- the name kind of rings a bell, but I don't know much," Alma admits, in that way you do when someone asks you if you know where Alice Springs is. She is comfortably aware of its existence, ish. (Incidentally, that was tactically relevant during the One Year War, so Alma ''does'' know where Alice Springs is.) "Huh? Oh, obviously -- I mean, if anyone found ''my'' records I'd be all over it!" Alma enthuses. "Even just emails between Gihren and Kycilia or something would be a lot to go on... I kind of made my peace with never knowing, but if you found something, that might be really good news!" Nodding to Yuliana, she affirms, "I think it's a good idea to take a look. And if you need anything, don't worry! I'll be right here." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Yuliana looks back, to Alma -- reaches back, with her free hand, to grasp Alma's briefly. It brings her into her reach, definitively. Yuliana's fine with that. "It's... difficult, not knowing," she agrees, and her anxiety is carried through her fingers. "Of course, Dr. Devi's been overseeing my treatment this whole time, but... doctors don't tend to tell you anything straight. They call them 'your' medical records, but they won't let you look at them... isn't that funny?" Her eyes close, as her fingers release, and she swings herself back to the computer proper. "What they had to do with some space project... you're right, Alma," Yuliana decides, pressing the disc into its slot. "I really have to know." It initialises; she opens the files. An email chain, with thirteen entries. From: Dr. Divya Devi To: Dr. Marit Zil Kaan Subject: Psycommu results with regards to ERN #258-1A EXTERNAL COMMUNICATION -- SECRET All right, Marit, if you're so desperate -- I'll tell you! I do miss working with you, you know; I still consider you my closest friend. A shame we had to go to ground with that last project, but it was for the best, I suppose, considering how popular the Titans eventually became. My latest project is really something special, though. Only one survivor -- but it can negate Newtype phenomena! You didn't hear that from me, of course; the whole thing's top secret, it makes it nigh impossible to have scientific dialogues. The subject is a complete failure as a Cyber-Newtype, of course, no advanced intuition at all -- but something like this is going to get me in the history books, Marin. I mean, how do you fight something like a Cyber-Newtype...? When the next generation of warfare rolls around, people will thank me. My prototype is incredibly faulty, but that's the problem with the cutting edge of science, I suppose. It's a miracle I salvaged any subjects at all. I called it 'Yuliana Dispersal', because if anyone asks, it's Minovsky tech. But I'm getting off track. With regards to your experiments, I'm not surprised to hear about the challenges. You'll just have to repeat, repeat, repeat!! We're trying to explore the EXAM system right now, but... it simply isn't going well. From: Dr. Marit Zil Kaan To: Dr. Divya Devi Subject: RE: Psycommu results with regards to ERN #258-1A EXTERNAL COMMUNICATION -- SECRET Oh, so that's your top-secret project? So glad you finally found a channel to tell me more about it. But a Cyber-Newtype with no intuition? Really? Does it have any psychic capabilities at all? I thought the EXAM system was a dead end, at that, so what were you trying to accomplish there? It is good to hear from you, in any case. So nice to see people like us can still get work! From: Dr. Divya Devi To: Dr. Marit Zil Kaan Subject: Psycommu results with regards to ERN #258-1A EXTERNAL COMMUNICATION -- SECRET None at all! That's the whole problem! It's a Cyber-Newtype which can't do anything a Cyber-Newtype can! Its physical enhancements worked fine, at least... but that's why I dug the EXAM system out of the trash. I thought that if I could compensate for its failures, I'd certainly make an unstoppable soldier! But even when I had it terminate successful Cyber-Newtype specimens, we weren't able to get any psychic readings from the remains while it was there. And we've tried exposing it to every variation of psycommu in use -- no resonance whatsoever. I'm beginning to think that even if we infuse the system, it's just going to counteract all our efforts! From: Dr. Marit Zil Kaan To: Dr. Divya Devi Subject: RE: Psycommu results with regards to ERN #258-1A EXTERNAL COMMUNICATION -- SECRET You could probably use it with your cyborgs, though -- I know you've never just been a Cyber-Newtype researcher. Why not pursue it for that sake? From: Dr. Divya Devi To: Dr. Marit Zil Kaan Subject: Psycommu results with regards to ERN #258-1A EXTERNAL COMMUNICATION -- SECRET Pah! Cover stories and diversions. This thing I've made is the future of warfare! I'm not going to invest this much energy in a side project. If I can't apply it to this, I'll just shelve the whole thing. Unless you'd like me to forward the data? I'd have to sanitise it first, naturally. The scientists proceed to trade information on this EXAM system -- which seems predicated on using Newtypes as raw materials to create a machine to give Oldtypes those same advantages. Eventually, the data corrupts. As Devi promised, there's little personal information on Yuliana in there, though the comments they continue making drive home the point of just how little a person she ''is'' to them. She's a project -- a project started from a scientist who escaped notice as a Titan. OST: Skinny Puppy - Brap https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nef-MgglfrA She's a n aberration in this world a faulty broken Cyber-Newtype Yuliana pales, as she reads through the dehumanising chain, that clinical and removed description of her horrors. Her breath shallows, over her exposed teeth, sharp and quick and panting. The air's too deep. She will drown. Unused in her hyperventilation, her nostrils pinch with the tension of her lip, the shock painted over her wide eyes and arced brow. All the noise of the apartment grows tinny and far away, all heard from the bottom of the bell jar. She becomes aware, all a sudden, of Alma's presence. Another person -- in her space; DANGER Yuliana swings her upper body about, and with full momentum from that lashing movement, SLAMS her closed fist into Alma. She spares nothing of her optimised strength in the gesture. It is no protesting swipe. In the gesture she SCREAMS, a jowl-splitting sound more like beast than man -- all tearing the back of her throat, and all the stops are glottal. "hhHHHHHRRRAAAHHHHH!" Eyes maddening-wide she plunges a hand to her armrest, and stumbles as she forces herself up from the chair, forces the chair ''down'' in the same motion. It falls to the ground -- she rushes to the far wall to escape the sound, and when her fingers tangle in the curtain she YANKS. She doesn't register the way the curtain rod impacts with her, though her screams grow more panicked, as she's wrapped in a curtain for a moment. She grabs it; she tears. Her fists come to impact the tinted glass, and her jealous green gaze focuses on it, pupils trembling. they're watching right through here the window's not a wall instructions any moment don't look at me don't LOOK AT ME smooth sharp it's a weapon i'm a weapon no no no no no no no no no "NO!" Yuliana finds a word -- one single, barely-coherent word -- and all the protest she can wage. Her body rocks back, fists curling. All at once she forces herself ''forward,'' head cracking forward to drive her skull through the glass as her fists plunge through the pane. There is a great, shattering noise. Someone is screaming with her voice. it hurts i'm in pain i'm alive! i exist! why why it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts Her fingers twitch, and flinch, brushing a shard of glass. it's a weapon i'm a weapon i'm holding a weapon i know what to do i am that i am Twitch, and flinch, and curl, and grasp. Wrenching that long, wicked shard from the tortured windowsill, blood streaming down from cuts over her face, her hands, her arms -- Yuliana stumbles back, one halting, drunken step. She's holding a weapon. For -- herself? For Alma? No clue leaks from the break in her reality. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> Alma pales a little as she reads over Yuliana's shoulder -- but she's nowhere near as far as Yuliana herself is. She reads ''much'' more slowly than Yuliana; while she's not dumb by any stretch, she's not the brilliant linguist that her... ...what ''is'' this relationship? ... is. Normally, too, Alma can sense danger trivially -- she's virtually never been earnestly ''ambushed'', only startled. Accordingly, when Yuliana, seated in front of Alma, turns and swings at her, in the middle of their shared void... ... she's utterly caught off guard. She practically flies back, her back hitting the wall from the sheer force of the punch. Clutching her stomach just below the xiphoid, she whimpers, "Yulie...?" It's not that she can't guess what happened -- certainly this isn't the first time someone of their shared background has lashed out in response to new information, but... Her feelings jumble -- and there's no place where she can reach out, to clarify them, trapped as she is in her own void. It's just Yuliana -- and even she is simply a deep darkness. "... Yulie," she murmurs, weakly. "I'm here for you. I can't hurt you." Not won't, not wouldn't -- can't. Even she knows it. "I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy." ... unfortunately, she's all too aware that Yuliana delights in her... Her gaze rests on that piece of glass. Slowly prying herself back up, Alma looks Yuliana dead-on. "I'm -- going to protect myself, so I can keep protecting you." Starting to move away, Alma looks for ''some'' means to defend herself; she doesn't want to attack Yuliana, but she's perfectly willing to put space and even obstacles between them to make sure she doesn't get hurt again. Noisy Fairy spent a lot of time teaching her that lesson. It seems to have stuck. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Yuliana actually struggled with ''reading,'' distinct from speaking, for a long time. Did you know? She got better, was trained better, but it's still a bit of a pain. That's why she shirks her paperwork so often. Yuliana doesn't know. Not right now, anyway. Someone is speaking with a weak voice. As if swimming she orients on her, looks through her, tongue tasting the air as she pants rapid and shallow. MOVEMENT As Alma tries to get away, Yuliana suddenly lurches forward to ''lunge'' at her, all force and vengeance and no coherence to speak of. That toppled chair makes for an easy blockade, though -- and shoving it into Yuliana's path sends her crashing down to the ground, heavily. That long and wicked shard of glass scatters from her hand as she throws it out to catch herself. Her hand skids. Broken glass has no safe handle. If there's one mercy, it's that none of the shards of glass embedded in her face are large enough to pierce through her skull, though certainly her face is red from more than just anger. Yuliana tries to lift herself, but she is too uncoordinated, and she has made her own footing treacherous. With an inconsolate howl, she wrenches her own head to the side to slam against the wooden leg of her computer desk, instead. Who is she attacking? </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> Yuliana lunges -- and now that Alma's well aware of her intent, she puts the chair between them and skids back, maintaining her footing much more effectively than Yuliana, despite the nauseating pain in her abdomen. She moves back away, not sure what she -- wait. No, she knows exactly where she's going now. The study is for work, you know. She backpedals while Yuliana remains fallen over, moving toward a drawer -- and pulling it open, ''shoving'' her hand in it. ... It's the wrong drawer, of course; memory is imperfect in cases like these. A second -- ''there''. She finds what she's looking for: what looks at first blush like a pair of loops of rope. One: they're not organic material; they're carbon nanotubes. Two: if you look close, the loops link together with a piece of metal. Lt. Stirner moves to the fallen Yuliana, doing her best to gentle her voice. "I'm sorry, Yulie," she says, slipping the loops easily over both of her wrists -- and then ''yanking'', harder than she'd like to have to, to get them tight, after sliding one of each of her own fingers into the loops. (They slide out easily afterward -- she just doesn't want to cut off the circulation to poor Yuliana's hands, lest they have a bigger problem on their hands later.) "Once you slow down, I'm going to try to clean you up," she says, staying patient as she makes sure the fit is good. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Even if Alma can't ''sense'' Yuliana's intent, she can still ''see'' it. The study, though, is for work, and the Nega Force's work ''does'' sometimes involve kidnapping. (Restraints are handy for good old-fashioned murder, too.) Not that Yuliana ''usually'' deploys from home, but, well -- stranger things have happened, and she'd hate to be unprepared. When Alma moves behind her, Yuliana wrenches herself on the ground, moving her focus from trying to regulate herself through pain back to ''escape.'' "DON'T," she howls, and she's howling in Indonesian, but the meaning of the word is carried just as well on two syllables than it is on one. "DON'T! DON'T, DON'T! DON'T! DON'T!" Alma might like to be gentler, but with her experience she surely knows she ''can't'' -- with Yuliana fighting her the whole way, they'd both be in danger if she wasn't strong, here. The knowledge of just what they tend to do with these things might inform just how hard she struggles... or perhaps she isn't remembering anything nearly that recent. Once she's trussed up (safely!), there's little Yuliana can do but keep throwing her weight from side to side -- though she can still ''kick,'' and she does, wildly. Her screaming is coloured more frankly by sobs, as much panicked as angry, and there's one word that stays with her. "DON'T!" Yuliana yowls, again and again, jangan jangan jangan, as if it ever mattered. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> The process of getting Yuliana cuffed takes a lot out of Alma -- especially with her kicking and thrashing basically the whole way. It frustrates her to have to be so firm with Yuliana, but she really does have to be -- for Yuliana's own sake. Reaching down for those kicking legs, Alma eventually has no choice but to move to ''sit'' on them to keep them still; her arms are nowhere near that strong. She gets those cuffed too, though that's an ''ordeal'' -- she's probably going to have bruised hands tomorrow... Alma... has nothing she can really do but wait. This feels horrible, but -- what else is she to do, if not simply watch Yuliana and wait? She does, at least, read the rest of the correspondence she reacted to; she needs to, to know how to proceed with her from here. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> "rrrRRRAAAAHHH!" Yuliana howls, as her legs are captured, just the same. She has strong legs and no self-regard to speak of, but she's not in a good position, and Alma is able to bind them eventually. Her screaming follows much the same pattern, gutteral and pained. There's one more unfortunate fact to Yuliana's existence, laid bare, here. Her neighbours know not to call the police when noises like these start happening. Alma certainly has time to read over those notes -- and read them a second time, at that -- before the screaming coming from Yuliana cedes its ground the rest of the way to sobbing, all those liquids mixing together down her face. She hasn't stopped hyperventilating, and indeed it may well be ''worse,'' now she's crying in earnest. But at least she's stopped struggling. It never mattered. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> Sometimes, there's just nothing you can do but wait. Alma does murmur a quiet, "Oh, Yulie... everyone really does try so hard to hurt you," as she finishes reading. Then she reads again -- to be sure she knows what's happening. ... things could have gone so much differently for her, if she'd been in the right place, then. Alma regrets not being able to change the course of Yuliana's life. Instead, the Newtype lab ''she'd'' intervened at during Gryps was the place she met... ... frustrating, to be so misallocated. She tries to put it aside, moving to fetch a first-aid kit and then finally move to Yuliana. "I'm sorry," she says, tone gentle. "Can I disinfect your wounds? It's going to sting a little bit, but you do need it... We can talk about what you found out, too." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> "Nnnh... nnhhhhh..." Yuliana whimpers, turning her face away from Alma. "Don't," ''jangan,'' again, before she remembers -- something, anyway. Since she switches from Indonesian to ''Mandarin,'' to plead: "No, no more procedures. Don't touch me. Don't touch me! I don't want it!" Her tone, at least, isn't so difficult to place: It's the sort of voice one takes when pleading with the scientists examining them. A touch whining, entirely submissive, and with all the patheticness of its futility. "Please, please just leave me alone... I'm not going back in there! I won't! Don't make me, please!" </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> Alma still does not know this language. She does know pleading, though. "Nothing's going to happen. We're here in your house. It's just the two of us. I'm not taking you anywhere, we're not doing anything. I'm just waiting for you to feel okay again, that's all," she says, doing her best to stay calm in the face of Yuliana's ongoing meltdown. She does disengage from her, the distress being obvious as it is; she's a little stumped for what else she can do or say, though. ... Poor Yuliana, she reflects to herself. The Cyber-Newtype before her really does need someone... </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Yuliana knows the tone of someone trying to calm her down, too. But the approach the REA settled on to control her was stoicism; the caring in ''Alma's'' voice is more foreign, given the notes in her file. Her brow knits, with a painful twitch as her muscles jostle something painful. Someone is speaking... Someone is... "... Alma?" A name is a name, whatever language it's in. Hers is accented in Mandarin, but when Yuliana's gaze focuses on her again, she finally realises she should switch back to English from her linguistic world tour. "Nnnuuuhh..." Her eyes squeeze shut; she draws in a damp breath. She's still afraid, when she looks up to her again, but she's at least looking at her instead of through her. "What... happened?" Yuliana asks, and the question is too unguarded -- too vulnerable -- to be one of her tricks. Her memory doesn't always cooperate, when things like this happen. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> Nodding to Yuliana slowly, Alma says, "Yes, it's me. Alma Stirner. Your friend. I'm here with you. You read something and had a little bit of a meltdown. I've been trying to get you to calm down, but I was worried you'd attack either me or yourself, so I tripped you and then put the cuffs on." That's a ''little'' glossing over some key steps, but it's probably enough for Yuliana to put the pieces together that are missing. Speaking of which, Alma crouches down with the first aid kit. "You've got some glass stuck in you in a few places. I want to disinfect the wounds, but I don't wanna hurt you." Rubbing at the back of her head, she admits, "Fishing that stuff out and disinfecting it's gonna hurt anyway! The disinfectant's probably gonna suck too, this is the cheap stuff..." Alma is intimately familiar with the cheap stuff, of course. "I'm not going to ask you to talk about it if you don't wanna," she says, gloving up and then looking for tweezers. "I just want you to know that... whatever comes from this, I'm here for you." A pause, before she adds, "... unfortunately, so's the tweezers. I'm gonna warn you, this was really more Mia and Barbara's knack than mine..." That thought draws her back for a moment. Wasn't she supposed to be -- it's not that she minds helping Yuliana, but she had somewhere... ... no. She's here, in Yuliana's house. There's nothing more important. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Alma Stirner, her friend. (Victim.) Yuliana tugs at her wrists, in confirmation, when Alma mentions restraining her. "Oh." Her voice falls, stone to pond, as Yuliana sags against the bloodied floor. Oh, she thinks, a second time. Right. That's her blood. ... it happened again. "... no. No!" She yelps, again, and at least it's in English this time. "You're not allowed! If they found out, I'd be in real trouble... other people can't treat me, I'm secret..." Secret. A military secret. A military weapon. Oh. Yuliana starts crying, again, as she places what she's just read, past the fog of her breakdown. Innoculated, she at least doesn't try to kill -- anyone, a second time. "I-I got too relaxed about it... it's lucky it was with... Elya! Elya, Elya, where is Elya!" Her voice rises, high and disconsolate. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "It's okay," Alma affirms, again. "I'm not going to take your blood, I'm not going to do anything but basic first aid. Like the same kind you'd get if you got shot on an operation!" She can tell she needs to put a line between what she's doing and treatment, for reasons that now become obvious. "I'm sorry, but I can't get the cuffs off until I'm done, though. Then I'll clean everything up." Now that there's no tension between her duties -- or at least a very small tension, at best -- she's fine. "I can also make sure to contact Dr. Kafim. Right now it's just me, though... ehehe. I know that's not what you want, though." Really, she ought to check her own injuries, but... Yuliana comes first. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> It's a good comparison to draw, because getting shot IS an occupational hazard, on the Nega Force. (All its members know how to pad a wound to get people back to Medical. It's just expected of special operatives.) "Nnnn..." Yuliana presses her lips together, because it's not like her hands can hold anything, at present. (And they hurt. Not just from the position.) "I don't want to...!" As she turns her face away, her protest is a high, whining wail. It could easily be described as childish. She whimpers through her lips a while longer, with stilted, halting breaths. "... okay," she turns her face up to Alma, again, in uncomfortable surrender. "Fine. Fine, just... do what you have to do..." Her eyes flinch closed, in anticipation. "... it doesn't matter if it hurts..." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> The order of operations gets a little muddled. The ''first'' thing Alma does is contact Dr. Kafim, letting her know that Mrs. Kafim is having trouble. ''Then'' she sets about cleaning up and disinfecting her wounds. The warning is right -- she's a strictly average medic. The Nega Force are all probably a little better at this particular task, because it really never has fallen to her. She still hasn't taken off the cuffs. (This is in part because she needs to find a knife good enough to remove them. Downsides of tough material!) Indeed, she has to ''ask'', "... Um, do you know where the nice knife is?" as she repositions Yuliana. "I'm going to remove those cuffs after we finish cleaning up." ... and after a moment, she finally appends: "It does matter if it hurts -- even if we can't do anything about it." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Alma contacting Dr. Kafim, in fact, may well be ''what'' causes Yuliana to finally assent to her care. She doesn't really want Elisa to see her like this. Not again. "Rrnn--" Yuliana might have said it doesn't matter if it hurts, but that hardly makes her suffer silently under Alma's attempts to pick out the glass. She yelps, whimpers, and grumbles, though she never tells her to ''stop.'' "Second... second drawer from your left's where I keep the Bowie. There's a Butterfly in the third drawer by the door. I've got a Finka in the cabinet by the monitor -- don't mix it up with the NRS-2, that's in there too, it's got a single-shot built into it..." 'The' nice knife, Alma says. Yuliana breathes, catches her breath, for a moment. "No," she insists. "Really, it's fine. The pain... centres me. I can focus. I can... cope, like this." If it's something she knows helps her cope... ... that might explain a few things about her instinctual reactions. With an uncomfortable noise, Yuliana blinks her eyes shut, again. "I... hit you, didn't I?" She asks, trying to piece together her existence. "... I didn't mean to." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "I'll probably use the Butterfly for this," Alma notes, before getting back to the work. It's important that Yuliana knows what she's planning to do each step of the way. Certainly she's proven that a surprise is a dangerous thing. "Oh, is that why you do that...?" Alma asks, a little surprised; she'd never quite figured out why Yuliana's reflexes were the way they were, even as she came to mirror some of them. Yuliana mentions hitting her, and Lt. Stirner remains characteristically stoic. "Ah -- it's fine," she says. "I'm still a little short of breath, and my hands hurt a bit from the kicking when I was putting on the cuffs, but I'm okay! This much is fine, really..." It's here that she wants to bring up what she read, but... what do you even say to that? "... I wasn't expecting EXAM to come up," making it a little about her to avoid pressing on ''Yuliana''. "Ah... someone I knew at the Flanagan Institute was..." ... she trails off. ''This'' is stuff she only found out after making her way to Londo Bell, so it's a newer wound than it would seem like. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> "Okay," Yuliana agrees, when Alma talks about the knife she'll use. She's not really in a position to argue. It doesn't feel good, being here. She's just lucky she's with someone Elisa prepared for her, or else she might be in real danger. Elisa's so thoughtful, Yuliana thinks. She hums, and nods, confirming her reasoning. "There's painkillers in the medicine cabinet," she mutters, adjacent to an apology. "And sedatives. Don't forget to fix yourself up." Yuliana enjoys hurting Newtypes, but in a situation like this... it's embarrassing. (The medicine cabinet isn't in here, of course; it's in the bathroom. There are knives there, too!) Yuliana falls quiet, though, as Alma brings up the EXAM system. "I... never knew why they did that," she says, haltingly. Her gaze shifts aside. "They just told me to kill them... and stay by the corpse. They had their instruments on us, so I knew it had to... have some purpose, but..." Her voice wavers; it's a difficult memory. Yuliana wasn't always the type of person to keep several different variations of combat knife in every room of her house. "They never told me anything," which is both a specific and a general complaint, judging by her previous comments. "What... what do you know, Alma?" </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "All right," Alma says -- if ''Yuliana'' is telling her to fix herself up, she probably actually needs to. Yuliana can wait a little while -- and probably take some time to recover from the pain, at that. She's back very quickly, though -- finishing up the rest of Yuliana's wounds, and then finally cutting the cuffs. She's ''very'' gentle about that, and slow. After all, she's in Yuliana's personal space with a knife. "... the first three EXAM units... used someone I went to the Flanagan Institute with. Marion Whelch. I fought... her? It? Them? Once, during the war... I could sense her there, but I didn't find out everything that happened until -- after." Her expression turns a little sour as she notes, "The records I got to see when I joined Londo Bell were pretty incomplete. I'm not actually sure if she died or not. I guess she would have had to, if the REA was proceeding under the assumption that you could only get a working EXAM System by killing someone..." ... that's not confirmation, but it's probably as close as Alma's ever going to get. Marion... She looks away, saying, "It's too sad... for you, for them. They shouldn't have treated any of you that way." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> It's fine. Give Yuliana a minute to collect herself, why don't you. That's the reason. Yuliana stiffens when Alma brings out the knife -- even though she knows someone Elisa has prepared would never hurt her, she knows just what ''she'' does with a knife, in this sort of situation. (Ugh. Don't examine that.) Once she's free, she tries to figure out righting herself, with her bandaged hands. She gets blood on them in the process. It's fine. This isn't the first time she's laid in a pool of her own blood. It's quite common, really. Once she's sitting up on the floor, she curls her legs up to her chest, arms looping around her knees. "Marion Whelch... they never mentioned that." A beat, and she adds: "They wouldn't." They never tell her anything, after all. "They... wanted me... to be able to use those damned powers," she recalls the correspondance, and picks through the words so, so carefully. "But I -- wasn't reacting like an Oldtype -- so I guess it didn't work. Never got why everyone hated those machines so much..." The psycommu ones, that is. Yuliana is quiet, for a span. "I had to kill Da Meipei," she reports, dull. "Then, Adam Lebedev. Then, Akhila Narang. Then, Tran Lanh Son. They were satisfied after that. I guess they were getting a lot of data... so they kept going for a while. Though, they never just did something once, so... I don't know..." She hides her face, there, behind her bent legs. It hurts to put pressure on her forehead, but that's fine, too. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> What do you even say to this? 'They killed Da Meipei, not you'? No, Yuliana would loathe that and Alma knows better than to say that. Having control of these things gives Yuliana a measure of... something. Certainly taking it away, in a situation like this would make her worse. Alma finds herself really, truly paralyzed by the helplessness of words -- and yet... being around Yuliana is still where she's supposed to be. As she finally begins attending to her own injuries a little more, Alma settles for, "They usually don't do something just once. But..." Ugh. She feels so clumsy, and Yuliana's pain is viscerally real to her in this moment... "... I'll follow your lead on this," is what she settles for. "I don't need to make a decision here... you can choose what you want to do with all this and I'll do anything you ask me to do, for your sake." It feels like such a non-answer, and yet, it's the only one she's been allowed. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> "Wretched." Yuliana mutters, with venom, as Alma surrenders. All those horrific puppet-dolls with no thought but compliance -- "You really disgust me, sometimes," Yuliana projects, without mercy. (Because it's for the sake of the Republic, and her sake, too.) She draws a breath, and it shudders. "I... I can't... this is my home," she goes on, a shade helplessly. "B-but... but Dr. Devi said... she ''said...'' she... lied... to me." The words halt like a stalling car, all forced out in bangs and stops. "... I guess... she even came from the Titans, didn't she...? And... she came here... so they would have hid her... here. So, I'm... I'm, also..." Just another wretched creature scarred by the Titans, like so many press releases so long ago. Yuliana can't quite manage to make herself say it. They both know what the Titans made out of humans. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "I don't mean to," Alma offers Yuliana. She gives exactly what she got. Alma sits with Yuliana, mutely, as she tries to figure out what to say to that. Again -- it's paralytic. The same impulses that make her want to help Yuliana in the first place do nothing but lock her off from being kind here. "I... guess she did," she agrees, lamely. "I... deployed against a Titans Newtype Lab in Pyongyang during the Gryps Conflict, at one point." It's where she met Lilith again. And yet here, that feels secondary to -- "I saw... some of what they did there. You're right." Alma truly has nothing for her. Nothing is what she has been left to give. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> And Yuliana gets what she gave. This is the way of things, cosmologically speaking. Yuliana tightens into herself, despite her injuries. Newtype labs... what they did... "Does it bother you? That they're right next door? I have an appointment tomorrow... I'm sure it won't be long before they ask after you, just the same..." Yuliana trails off, peeking out at Alma from behind her knees. Her green gaze is troubled. All Yuliana has is nothing. She's so hungry. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "Sometimes. I thought... the Federation stopped doing this," Alma admits, quietly. "But it doesn't matter what I think." And there's a world, of course, where that sentiment could have some sweetness, some kindness to it -- that it's up to Yuliana to decide in this situation, because even with the connections and similarities, these are Yuliana's issues in Yuliana's life and not Alma's. Here it's simply because after her failure with Mineva and Leina, Alma no longer considers it her place to have a detailed opinion on a matter that affects Yuliana unless it's been signed and stamped. Alma leans back, sighing... catches a glimpse of a computer clock. "... You definitely haven't had anything to drink in the last hour, or anything to eat in the last four," she notes, clockwork. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> "Of course it doesn't," Yuliana grumbles, glaring as she looks away again. She doesn't see the sweetness in the statement. She's too busy looking in the mirror. "I signed up to the project in '85," she says, dismal. "It was called something different, back then. I guess that's why they went through all those names. The Renascence Orchid Project... the Advanced Research Facility... the Modern Scientific Association... the Institute for Continuing Study..." All their names were painfully generic, aside from the first. "... I guess they're continuing to study ''me,''" she realises, entirely sour. "And they don't like too much attention... since the Federation never stopped doing this." Yuliana scowls, tightening a little further into her ball. "... I... was messed up that long?" She feels something rising in the back of her throat. She is remembering. She chokes it down, and heaves a breath. "Fine," she cedes to the care Elisa has prescribed for her. "Fine." Alma will have to help pick her up, though. She doesn't feel too good. With Alma's help, Yuliana makes it to the loungeroom, and it's by Alma's grace that she finds a cup of not-too-hot cocoa in her hands, too. Alma's next job, of course, is cleaning up the study. All that blood and glass can't just stay on the floor. It tends to stain. And so Yuliana's all curled up, socks on the cushion and bare legs trapping the rest of her on the corner of the couch. (She's wearing ''shorts,'' because she's at home, so she can wear inside clothes befitting the climate. A tank-top, too -- nominally cream, stained with red. No scarf, so the darkening green necklace around her neck is on full display.) The empty mug on the coffee table has long been drained. There are a dozen little dressings stuck to her forehead, where the glass cut; a dozen more scattered across her fists and her arms. Her left hand has been bandaged, and this, too, has a red stain. (From the outside in.) There's a horrific bruise, blooming along the side of her temple, and thinner bruises marking her wrists and her ankles from where she'd wrenched and railed against her constraints. Yuliana's apartment -- on the ground floor, to avoid those cases of Zaftran window disease going around -- is found in a residential area of Kotte, the administrative district of Colombo. Elisa has a key, of course. She's had one for some time. It's a lavish apartment, but it ''is'' still an apartment, so the front door opens straight into the loungeroom. (It's open-plan, so the kitchen is right there too, but there ''is'' a hallway going off of the lounge; that's where the bedrooms are, and the washroom, and the study.) Yuliana long since positioned her couch so she has a view of the front door, of course. Just to make sure nothing surprises her. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> Elisa received a partcular set of messages from Alma... >Yulie read something about the experiments done on her that hurt her... she's hurt. They're mostly superficial injuries, but she's really upset... >I've been cleaning up the blood and helping her stabilize. She's really struggling, though. She might need to see you before she feels the rest of the way better. >I can forward what she's reading to you, too, if you think it'd help! In the darkness it is hard to see her reaction. But she grips her phone nearly hard enough to break it--nearly, but not quite--and replies. >Do so. Eventually, after seeing these reports... >Thank you. You have done well. I am on my way. Elisa has prepared to set out. And in a flash of green light, she is gone. --- The key turns and the door opens. Elisa is behind it, and sweeps into the room, the hem of her black dress and cloak dragging along the ground. Her burning green eyes are lit with rage--and that rage banks immediately into terrible, terrible concern as she looks upon Yuliana. "My Yuliana," she says, and it could break a heart, "What have they done to you now...?" But she knows. She already knows. She approaches, and steps down before the couch, her heels protesting against the way she balances on one and her knee to rush to Yuliana's side and put her arms around her. "My darling," she says. "I am here. Your Elisa is here." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Elisa has her key. She's had her for some time. And yes, her heart is shattered, seeing that concern in her eyes. "Elya," Yuliana murmurs, new tears springing to eyes already red. "I'm sorry... I-I lost control again..." What 'they' did is so much long ago, compared to her own rage. She shifts as if she might try to stand, but Elisa is already there, before her. Instead her arms wrap around her, and she clutches her, tightly, burying her face by her neck. "Oh, ''zhenushka,''" she sobs, and if her wounds protest her grip, she's not concerned about that. "Elya... my Elya... I'm, I'm so glad you're here..." She pulls back, a little -- but just so she can tug at that imposing black dress, to try and urge Elisa up onto the couch beside her. It's certainly big enough. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> "Think not of such things," Elisa tells Yuliana. "I am here now. There is no need for apology. Never a need for apology." Elisa doesn't let Yuliana stand, but she does accede to her request that she join her on the couch. It is a moment before Elisa is there, and she spreads her cloak to cover Yuliana along with her arm. "Tell me of your feelings," she says. "Tell me of what you need, my darling." She remembers not to squeeze too hard; she has seen those wounds. It is a rare thing, that. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> "Mm," Yuliana bobs her head, still a little unsettled, when Elisa insists she never has to apologise. It's fine. She doesn't have to stand up. Elisa is here. Yuliana shifts closer to her, throwing her legs over her lap to curl around hers as she buries herself against Elisa's side, under Elisa's cloak, covered and protected. Elisa is so thoughtful, to be so gentle, Yuliana thinks. For a moment she just presses her face in against Elisa's neck, sniffling; her emotions are such loud things, so enormous in scope, that even thinking of voicing them is overwhelming. But Elisa asked; Elisa asked. "I-I found some emails Dr. Devi sent," Yuliana finds her voice, eventually, turning her face to look up to Elisa. She doesn't bother to pull away terribly much to speak to her; there's a type of crushing intimacy, being so close to the eyes she's looking into. "She... she said, I... I-I was... a ''Cyber-Newtype,'' Elya. A -- a ''faulty'' one, ''defective''..." And this close, Elisa doesn't need any emotional intuition to see through the wound of Yuliana's eyes, with all the horror of those implications etched into every line of tension. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> Of course she is unsettled. She must be unsettled! Those terrible scientists and their thoughtless, sightless words... Yes, Elisa knows about that. So when Yuliana buries herself around Elisa, Elisa is strength. She is not especially warm, as a rule, but her cloak makes up for some of that, insulating and trapping Yuliana's own warmth to combine to something approaching human. And she looks towards those eyes of Yuliana's... Elisa does not look 'surprised'. She looks angry for a moment, and then that concern returns. "Dr. Devi is a fool," Elisa insists. "She did not know what she had, in you. Of course a fool would think and write foolish, stupid things. She is ''wrong''. You are beautiful. You are that which must be." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> No wonder Elisa wears cloaks so often. She's ''so'' thoughtful, Yuliana thinks. Elisa is her rock, and Yuliana clutches herself to her, grateful and needing. And Elisa is angry, but not at ''her,'' judging from the way her concern floods back so quickly. What she had... the past tense is comforting, at least, though there's still a flash of anxiety in one set of green eyes to think of it. Yuliana reaches a hand up, slipping out from under Elisa's arm, to cup her cheek in a hand. "I am?" She breathes, tenderly. "Oh, Elya..." Her fingers curl, against Elisa's skin. "So... so I'm not like them? I'm not like them? A-another -- wretch of the Titans, some scar on humanity's crimes? What I am... please tell me, Elya," Yuliana pleads, vulnerable, torn open. "This is... it's too terrible, I can't bear it..." ... if those foolish emails held any merit, after all, isn't she tormenting people just like her? Like that woman, cleaning up in the study..? </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> Oh, never at ''Yuliana''. Never at her. The past tense is important. Of course, it may be much greater past tense soon. Ah, but she promised... "Yes," Elisa answers Yuliana, leaning into her hand. The fingers curl against her, and she even feels them. It is... different. It is vital, that Yuliana is here. And what she says--what she asks. "Never," Elisa says. "You are as different from them as pure water is from sewage. You are a miracle, my Yuliana; yes, they ''tried'' to create something terrible with you. But instead you became the answer to their hubris. Now, with me, we will deliver unto this world a new age." "You are my miracle, Yuliana. You are brilliant, and shining, and pure. And Dr. Devi is a fool who has sown the seeds of her own destruction." Humanity is unworthy to ''touch'' Yuliana, Elisa thinks. But it would trouble her to hear it... "You are more." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> OST: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8IRfjmu-kI Metric - No Lights on the Horizon A miracle... Elisa's miracle... Her answer. "I'm with you," Yuliana murmurs, gentled and soft and loving, and she isn't touching humanity. She's touching Elisa, and she is so, so happy that Elisa feels her fingertips. Has Dr. Devi sown the seeds...? Yuliana's hand drops, to curl at the crook of Elisa's neck, instead. "We're... beyond them," she echoes, "the next step, right..?" She confirms; she has written all of Elisa's words on the inside of her heart, where no one can touch them. She treasures them, each and every word of comfort. "There's... there's no way she'd understand... what she was looking at..." Yuliana concludes, slowly, and at first she speaks of Dr. Devi. "... no, they couldn't possibly understand..." At first. Her fingers curl, stroking at Elisa's collarbone, and even if Elisa isn't vulnerable it still ''feels'' as if it is. "I... I have an appointment, tomorrow..." Yuliana brings up, in that halting manner, and she, in turn, isn't scared of ''Elisa'' as that nervousness enters her gaze. "But... but they always thought of me that way... they lied to me, Elya! They just wanted to control me! I-it's, it -- it feels ''awful!''" It is so difficult to voice the pain in her eyes. Nevertheless, there it is. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> Elisa's answer. "You are," Elisa reminds Yuliana, and a gentle smile briefly touches her face. Only briefly, however; her serious look returns. Yuliana echoes it. She confirms it, and Elisa nods. "That is correct. Yes. That is what is." To understand... Yuliana's conclusion is pleasing to Elisa; she inclines her head again, and is less angry for it. However... The appointment. "I see," Elisa says, and of course she knows of Yuliana's appointments. But here and now... "It does," Elisa says, sympathetically. "I feel it for you. The anger. And more." She has other feelings. Yuliana has seen them. "They are perfidious. Treacherous. Deceitful. And they would seek to use you." "...Knowing this," Elisa says, "You need not decide what to do now. You can rest, for the moment. You can tell me what you wish." "Alma!" Elisa reaches up a hand to snap her fingers twice. "Come here." She nods to Yuliana. "Yes, she will assist." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> It's really hard to clean up a lot of blood, it turns out! Not ''that'' hard -- Yuliana keeps cleaning supplies well-suited to the purpose -- but it's taken much of Alma's time. She ''also'' has to find all the bits of broken glass, which is a bit of a pain, and order new window glass. (She'll handle installing it herself, of course. No need to trouble Yuliana with such things.) When Elisa calls for her, though, it becomes her new highest priority. She stands up and emerges in short order, asking pleasantly, "You called for me, Doctor Kafim?" She wears a nice, pleasant smile, despite recent events. It's important to make herself available to Dr. Kafim, after all. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Elisa confirms what Yuliana has taken into herself, and gentle, gentle, her own head dips in the ghost of a nod. She's happy that Elisa is made happy, too; they're all the closer, to agree on this much, she's sure. (For Yuliana to agree with Elisa on this much. She's always the one changing her mind, isn't she? Perhaps it's no wonder, when Elisa is such a pillar of strength, and Yuliana is so labile.) Elisa feels Yuliana's feelings for her -- feels her anger; and Yuliana is angry, isn't she? The Republic's ''perfidy'' -- strong words, from her darling wife -- echoes, in her mind, and Yuliana's gaze drops down to Elisa's shoulder as she tries to think of what she wishes to do. And snap, snap, Elisa summons even more help, for such a difficult task. Yuliana, all curled beneath Elisa's cloak, looks to the Newtype and that horrific lack about her with an assessing expression. "She did," Yuliana concludes, looking at Alma and talking ''about'' Alma. "Given the situation, she did the best she was capable of... so I'm happy with her performance, I suppose." It would be easy to feel disgusted with herself, if she were tormenting someone just like her. Luckily, she isn't. And since she isn't, it's rather generous of her to let Alma off the hook for tying her up, isn't it? "Did you get the study cleaned up?" She addresses Alma properly, finally, though she doesn't shift from beside Elisa. "I don't wish for my dear Elya to have to see that." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> There is one matter on which Elisa has changed her mind for Yuliana. One matter that Yuliana has proven to be the source of power. That of the hated Newtype. ...But on this? Of course Elisa is a pillar of strength! Yuliana just forgets herself sometimes, is all. She must be reminded of the truth she did not know. But for now, Elisa is angry, and then she is calm. Yuliana can think on it; Elisa is going to handle Alma for a moment. Or rather... To let Yuliana have someone to handle. Acting on others is so much better than just lurking with one's feelings, isn't it? "I did," Elisa answers. "...Alma." She decides to use her name, a distant reward for a minion who has done well, though she speaks it with the tone of someone having to remember it. Regardless-- Well? ''Did'' she? </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "Most of the way!" Alma answers, truthfully. "The window is still broken, and I'm not one hundred percent sure I found all the glass yet, but it's clean for the most part. I'll need to vacuum -- I usually do that when you're out of the house... but other than the window, it ''looks'' fine." Alma looks between the Kafims, then takes a few steps closer, giving Yuliana a smile at the mention of being happy with her performance. "I'm glad Dr. Kafim is here for you," she notes, looking between them. ... it's not a wholly unfamiliar relationship, in some senses -- but Elisa's reach into Yuliana's world extends so much further than Alma could have conceptualized. ... that's good, right? That they're that close? Surely. She'd love to keep both of them happy. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Of course it's good, and as if to punctuate that fact, Yuliana rests her head against Elisa's shoulder as she listens to Alma's report. She's so lucky Elisa is here to remind her; so lucky Elisa thinks of her welfare. "Yes," she answers, dreamily. "My dearest Elya is always here for me... always... she's made me the happiest woman alive." Which says something, really -- how she's comfortable enough talking like this around an outsider. (Because, really, Alma ''isn't'' an outsider any more. She's been made into an instrument of Elisa's will, and that means she's trustworthy!) "It's good that you thought not to interrupt us with the vacuum," she says, a moment later. "Good. You've done well." It's a beat later that she remembers to ask, considering the wear and tear of her things: "Are you wounded?" Yuliana didn't mention wounding Alma to Elisa, of course, because it hardly ''mattered.'' </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> Elisa doesn't even pretend to pay attention to Alma's explanation about the window. Yuliana has that covered. And she says it's good, so it's clearly good! It's fine. "Of course," Dr. Kafim says, looking to Alma as she comments on their relationship. She smiles. "I would always be there for my darling Yuliana. Always." She squeezes Yuliana gently. "Ah, yes..." But Yuliana has decided something. Hmmm. Is she wounded? Elisa peers over to find out. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "My hands are probably going to be a little bruised up, and I got a couple of glass splinters in my hand while I was cleaning up? It's nothing serious," Alma answers. She's being asked, so it's important. "My stomach still kind of hurts, but it's fine! That's really not a big deal right now." She doesn't want to embarrass Yuliana by acting like she did something bad, with Elisa here. So instead, she elects not to linger there and instead remains firmly oriented on the two of them. "What about you? I tried not to give you any rope burns or anything, but quick cuffs are a little hard to be totally safe with in a situation like that..." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Elisa is very gentle, and mindful of where her injuries lie, so of course she doesn't ''hurt'' Yuliana with that squeeze. Yuliana's eyes flutter closed, briefly, a happy little noise humming from her lips. They ''must'' be in love, deeply, for her to be so content so soon after her abject breakdown. She distracts herself from her bliss just enough to evaluate Alma, at least -- eyes cracking back open and looking to her, sidelong, from where she's nestled against her wife. "I see," Yuliana says, pursing her lips. "Are you able to remove the shards?" In her hand, that is. She's aware it might be physiologically difficult, depending on what hand it is. She doesn't particularly act like she did something bad, though. Yuliana looks down, to the hand which has lifted out of the safety of Elisa's cloak, to rest by her neck. There ''are'' thin bruises, there. "Mm," she frowns. "I suppose I was fighting quite a lot... I'm damaged, but given the circumstances, I'll forgive you for that." She looks up to Elisa, frown fading, to look at her. "Isn't that fine, darling?" She presses her, for confirmation of her mercy. "I suppose I would have done more damage, if she hadn't gone so far, so..." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> Elisa considers the fact that Alma would have to have subdued Yuliana. She considers it for a long few moments. But Alma is saying she attempted to be gentle, and... Yuliana wishes to forgive. Yes. Elisa confirms, "Yes. That's fine. It was helpful." She looks to Alma, and considers. "If you are unable to remove the shards, fetch a medical kit. I will do so. You have done my Yuliana a service." "I am... <span style="color:#008700;">happy</span> that you have done this." And thus, so should she be. She lets Yuliana come up, though, stroke her hair for a moment. Yes, it is very good. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "Oh, it's fine! I already got them out, my hand just stings... I'm pretty okay at handling basic cuts and scrapes, and I already had the first aid kit," Alma answers, not really paying attention to the subtext of her situation in the least. Nothing bad is actively happening to her, so... ... right! She can be happy! She smiles blissfully, or at any rate something like it, allowing herself to close her eyes and simply bask in that feeling. "Is there anything else either of you need from me?" comes an eventual question, as she rides that wave of very-much-enforced contentment. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Elisa agrees with Yuliana's generosity -- and Alma, Yuliana thinks, is very, ''very'' lucky she does. She, too, is generous, offering to take care of Yuliana's things for her. Alma's taken care of it, of course, and Yuliana affirms: "Good. You shouldn't leave yourself injured." She sighs, happily, as Elisa strokes her hair. ''Her'' contentment isn't forced, melting into Elisa, murmuring sweet Russian nothings so softly as to be almost incoherent. When Alma asks if she needs anything, Yuliana is ''tempted'' to dismiss her; her cheek shifts, against Elisa, to glance at her with one eye. "Hmm..." Yuliana starts, gaze veiled, and once again talks ''about'' Alma as she looks at her: "... can you examine her, darling? I think I must have hit her rather hard... it would be inconvenient if she were damaged." Yuliana might well be damaged ''herself,'' but Elisa's surely already intuited that, subtly forbidding her from standing. Right now, Alma's injuries are what occurs to her. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> Stings. Unimportant! Pain is a passing thing and hardly relevant unless it belongs to Yuliana. "Good," Elisa says of Alma's... handling, of her own injuries. That's fine. And Elisa does think Yuliana is generous in this. Of course, she's also being generous. But one must keep to the terms of one's agreements. And she said that pleasing them would make Alma happy. Elisa is done with Alma; she barely notices her presence anymore. But Yuliana... "For you, my darling," she says, and kisses Yuliana's forehead. She starts to move. "Sit here, yes?" And then she walks to Alma. "Where does it hurt?" she asks, and proceeds to gently inspect her hands for starters. Then she'll place a hand against her stomach, checking for the source of the pain. She is... not ''not'' gentle. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> This is surely a kindness -- and for that reason, when Elisa approaches, Alma does her best not to be afraid. (Her best is not good enough, but at the same time, she doesn't really understand ''why'' that feeling presents itself, either...) "Ah -- right here, below my breastbone," Alma answers. She could explain that she was standing and Yuliana was sitting, when Yuliana lashed out at her -- but no, contextualizing the pain is a little bit pointless, right? It'd be a burden for Elisa to hear that her wife was doing something bad... ... why does that thought tangle her up a bit? Alma glances away, and adds, "... my right hand does still sting a bit, too..." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Yuliana smiles, and -- of course Elisa lays a kiss on some part of her forehead which ''isn't'' marked with glass cuts, because she's very, very thoughtful. Yuliana trusts her implicitly, so she doesn't flinch away, and her reward is the physical affection she's always so hungry for. "Yes," she agrees, agreeable, shifting to allow Elisa to reclaim her cloak without taking Yuliana with her. (She might, but not yet, surely.) Her legs fold in, one ankle crossing the other, as she leans back against the lounge and watches Elisa work. (She supposes humans ''would'' be afraid, seeing Elisa approach them. She isn't, of course. Her dearest wife would never hurt her.) "The strike would have been angled upwards, I suppose," Yuliana supposes, when Alma talks about the source of her pain. ''She'' doesn't hesitate to contextualise it. One shouldn't fail to mention things to one's physicians, after all. "I don't suppose I held back terribly much." She doesn't sound entirely sure of the details, for all she's volunteering what she can; the details are still a little blurry, to her. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> The good news is that Elisa is not at all troubled by Yuliana doing 'bad things'. The bad news is that Elisa is helping. She notes where the pain is, and considers for a moment. A strike, below the breastbone... She feels about there, and concludes, "Nothing appears to be broken." She motions for Alma to lift her shirt, and examines the bruising more closely. Then, "...You will be fine." She is paying enough attention to the world to notice Alma's fear. She considers it. She considers removing it... She does not. "I have no medicine," Elisa says. "But Yuliana does. Yuliana, darling, I would like you to allow her to take one of your," she mentions a particular medication--a painkiller--," And then later, when she is feeling better, I will give her a prescription for," an anti-inflammatory, "To help take down the swelling." It's ''probably'' fine not to get a medical history first. "Then you will sit down in that chair for twenty minutes so that I can ensure there is no adverse reaction. By then the medication will have taken effect. Now, go get some water and a snack to take with it. Hurry." She smiles to Yuliana. "You see? I have handled the matter. She will continue to function." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> "Ehe... you didn't," Alma notes, "but it's okay. Usually my reaction times are so good... I should've done better." She's relieved -- and happy? -- when Elisa tells her that she'll be taken care of in this matter. Those are actually both familiar medications to Alma, as it happens -- and she volunteers as much! "I was on both of those as a precaution when I was testing the Grublo," she says, cheerily. "But I don't actually remember how I reacted to them, and my records were expunged so it'd be hard to find out. Thank you, ma'am!" she enthuses, heading to the kitchen to snag some crackers and a glass of water. Naturally, she does exactly as directed. Doctor's orders, and all that. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> Are they really bad things if Yuliana is doing them? "You'll know better for next time," she supposes, to Alma, as if Yuliana's rages are just a fact of the world she'll have to learn to live with. As if Alma is the one who should change. And no wonder, with Elisa right here. "Of course," Yuliana agrees, easily, with her wife. Since Elisa would like it, she'll happily volunteer more pills. Alma already took some under her direction, but taking more is probably fine! ... if it makes her particularly drowsy, well, it's not like they're out in the world. What harm could she come to, here at home? :) Yes, Yuliana smiles, to Elisa, just the same. "Wonderful," Yuliana says, all fondness and warmth. She, at least, is still quite warm. "It would be such a pain if we had to prepare another... and Rusalka still remembers how to make delightful cake, as she is." (Even though Alma might have gone to sit in that chair, she still talks about her as if she isn't here.) "Ah..." A frown crosses her face, as she looks to Alma, and then back to Elisa, "but, I suppose, I... might, need..." Stalling out like a Zaftran car, mumbling her words, it takes her forever to get to, "a little, examination, myself... I wasn't exactly gentle." It's hard for her to say something like that, with everything that's come up. Even if it's Elisa, she's still a doctor. But even if she's a doctor, it's Elisa, so Yuliana makes herself mention her injuries anyway. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed. <poem> Alma will know better for next time. Because there will be a next time! Assuming Alma doesn't die of overdose. But she probably won't. Not with Elisa here! Probably. "Then we shall remember the results," Elisa tells Alma. "You are welcome." Then she looks to Yuliana, more importantly, and inclines her head. "So long as she is useful to you," Elisa says. And then there is the matter of... "Yes," Yuliana must need treatment, Elisa thinks. She regards her thoughtfully. "Yes," she says. "Come. We will go to your room, so that it is more comfortable. I will ensure you are perfectly healthy, darling." "You have been through so much. You deserve care." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Alma Stirner has posed. <poem> Yuliana's dosage is rather higher than anything Alma got at the Flanagan Institute, and Alma never did have to take both of these more-or-less simultaneously. As she gets settled in, her head starts to loll back a bit; she briefly orients on Rusalka as if it's her name, but she seems quite out of it before very long. The Kafims move to exit, and she doesn't seem to mind that. She remains right where she is. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed. <poem> "Yes," Yuliana murmurs assent, reaching up a hand for Elisa's, seeking her help to stand. She's dazed, all knocked upside the head; she's a little unsteady on her feet. But Elisa is strong, and Elisa cares, so she won't let her fall. Yuliana leans on her, for a moment, and says: "Oh, Elya, you're so good to me..." She catches a glimpse of Alma, who was just as kind, and thinks little of the way her head lolls back against the chair. And her bedroom, barred to Alma, is naturally open to Elisa -- in all its spartan, stark existence, militarily modest. It better fits a new recruit than a Captain. A memory from before the experiments, perhaps. Yuliana is a difficult patient, but Elisa is surely patient with her, and Yuliana doesn't wish to make her unhappy; between those desires, Elisa will surely be able to render the care she believes Yuliana deserves. And Alma will be checked on. Eventually. </poem>