Elea makes a mistake

<Scene begins, Elea is mucking around with shape because lol Idreth. Also for reference, Elea bleeds
silver with a kinda rainbowish shine in the right light. Also please note some of this is pretty gross
so if you're eating might wanna watch that. Also some of it is weird abstract numerology rp and doesn't
make a whole lot of sense.>

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "Evening, Director."

(Cabalists): You say, "Evening, Doctor."

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "So listen, not to launch straight into business after pleasantries, but...
 what are the odds that whatever you did to the Chairwoman, you could do to me?"

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "Any of you, really, I'm quite desperate!"

(Cabalists): You say, "Just a moment, trying to..."

<This is multitasking she really shouldn't be doing.>

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "Sure, sure."

(Cabalists): You say, "Anyway, it's possible. Could have a look, at least."

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "I don't care if you need to lock me up somewhere, I just need this thing
to be over with."

(Cabalists): You say, "We'll need three Cabalists, and- ah, just- hrk!"

<Essentially, she goes splat and blood goes everywhere. Then she tries to reform herself but fumbles it.>

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "Director!"
(Cabalists): Anfini says, "What's going on?"

Akaryuterra arrives from the north.
Akaryuterra steps over the threshold of the bedroom in a hurry, looking back briefly to the
spattering of blood outside as he calls out. "Eleanor. Hey, Elea!? I saw a bunch of blood ou-"
Seeing a distinct lack of his wife, Akaryuterra pauses, brow furrowed.

You have emoted: The room is a disaster zone. Silver blood paints everything in sight, apparently
having splattered in all directions from a point near the doorway. A drop of it falls from above,
pattering to your scales and rolling down them. Eleanor is here- you can sense it- but she's not
visible, the root of her existence felt from the far side of the bed, out of sight. You hear a
wheezing breath.

Akaryuterra dashes to the far side of the bed and drops down the instant he spots you. His hands
shake for a moment as he looks you up and down, uncertain what to do. Making a decision, however, he
shuffles closer and plants his hands on the ground, looming over your prone form.
Akaryuterra Ryotega Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Hey, Elea."

`````
She is a wise Idreth, discernible as a person at best and described as 'a chaotic horror' at worst.
She starts off normal enough, a familiar human face, neck and upper torso intact, but below there
she becomes some kind of horriffic mermaid- the coherence of her body rapidly dissolves, becoming a
stomach-turning mess of bone, meat and blood. Strange, fractal configurations of flesh twist and
roil around each other, some parts pulsing, some parts rigid, all parts quite definitely wrong. Her
brown eyes are glassy, her breaths shallow, and she is surrounded by silvery blood which paints the
floorboards and soaks into nearby fabric.
`````

You have emoted: "Ak.. Aka-- d-don't--" The mess that has replaced Eleanor gives a gurgling sort of
gasp, cringing and shuddering on the floor. "Don't come in here-- don't look- please-!"

Anfini tells you, "Director, we can't have you going out on us! Tell me you're alright."

Akaryuterra's eyes go wide, and he freezes, coming to the realization of just what he is looking at.
He sits back on his haunches, pulling his hands out of the pooling silver and flesh on the floor.
About now, the only thing coming from him is a frantic mantra of cursing as his fingers grasp at the
air. "Wha-what happened?" His face blanches, and his expression turns numb from the shock.

You have emoted: Eleanor's fingers curl fitfully, and she shifts weakly, her chest deflating as she
loses grasp on another shortened breath. "Accident," she manages- that much is patently obvious.
It's clear that the destruction isn't the result of some savage attack- there's a strange (albeit
revolting) sort of pattern to it. The spikes and arches of bone are almost architectural, the
tangled tendons not entirely random in placement, if not at all earthly in logic. You can recognise
specific parts of anatomical science, even if they're not at all in any order they should be.

Akaryuterra is clearly in a panic, he reaches down, leaning as if to try and scoop portions of your
flesh back to where it belongs- the moment he touches it, however, he halts and pulls his hands back,
 trembling. "W-well yeah, but- fuck, what do I do?! Yer bleedin' way too much, we gotta patch this
up somehow, but there's too fuckin' much!"
Akaryuterra leaves to the north.

````
<And now some pasta from Fini>
You tell Akaryuterra Ryotega Junakutz-Lionheart, "Commissar! Do you know what's
going on?"


Akaryuterra tells you, "I...I d-don't know, fuck, she's... I don't even know what the hall's goin'
one here. Fuck, she's bleedin', an' there's blood every- fuck. Blood, meat, bone, it's all over."

You tell Akaryuterra Ryotega Junakutz-Lionheart, "BLOOD AND- WHAT THE FUCK?"

You tell Akaryuterra Ryotega Junakutz-Lionheart, "Do you need help!? I can- I can help, I can get
 help, we can all help, fuck, oh fuck..."

Akaryuterra tells you, "I- fuck, yeah, gods, help me fix this!"

You tell Akaryuterra Ryotega Junakutz-Lionheart, "I can't get in your house, man!"

Rattling and heavy footsteps preceed a heavy thump against the door. A split
second later, it is unlock and flies open. Akaryuterra darkens the doorway,
silver smeared on his hands and forearms- as though he tried to wipe off a heavy
splatter of mercury, but beneath that he is damnear pink, despite his scales. He
says, hurriedly, "Somethin' fucked up, it went wrong- calm down, panic will not
help us- I don't give a fuck she'll bleed the fuck out if we don't get a plan
together yesterday DAMNIT!" The bickering isn't their usual, and even while
Akaryuterra attemps to be the voice of reason you can hear a definite strain in
his voice. "We can't even stitch a damn thing up cause she's- stop- no!" His
hands fly to his head, smearing silver on his cheeks and snout as he forces a
deep breath.

You have emoted: Anfini slams the door behind him, bellowing defiantly at
Akaryuterra, his hands wound tightly around his weapon. "Why are we standing
here? She's going to die! We need bandages! We need sutures, gods-fuck-your-eyes,
 we need to patch her up!" With an unfathomably deep breath, the Doctor seems to
absorb air and transform it into pure calm, and after a long sigh, continues to
radiate tension but carries himself in a shakily composed fashion, his face pale
but set sternly. "Lead me to your wife."

````
<And back to Elea's POV>

Anfini enters from the north following Akaryuterra.
Akaryuterra says, without turning to address Anfini, "I got plenty'a fuckin' cloth, but I don't know
if that'll help a damned thing with 'er like this."

Your pose is now set as:
Lying in a mess of tangled flesh, bone and blood, what remains of Eleanor is here.


Anfini barges into the room like a storm given legs and made to walk the earth, all but slamming the
door open well ahead of Akaryuterra, striking grandly at the floor with his staff, like a shepherd
looking to beat the daylights out of someone. With him rides the familiar twin-tails of cigarette
smoke and curses so thick you could braid them into rope, filling the air with both unpleasantries.
"Where is--" Only politeness keeps him from leaping on and hurling over the bed. He rounds it in
timely fashion, only to fall short, his eyes popping open and his body buckling as if struck by a
fantastic rock.

Slapping his hand over his mouth, Dr. J. R. Anfini, the Fixer says, "No, no..."

You have emoted: Eleanor drags in a bloody breath, letting it go with a sound quite like a hole in
the lung. Not that you'd be able to tell if that's what it really was.

In the midst of Ryotega's rushing and panic, the boys fall silent. Slowly, they take a deep breath
and Akaryuterra clenches their eyes tightly shut. "This is a necessity. Eleanor needs us." he states
coldly, "And we need to remain calm and in control." Had you not seen it, you would not believe the
transition could occur so fast and firm, leaving such calm in its wake- the result of the switch is
uncomfortably emotionless. "Anfini. We need proper tools. Do you have them at hand?" asks the Doctor.
arts yah, or just post in the thread!

You have emoted: Eleanor's eyes blink slowly- and then she speaks, somehow adding to the nightmare-
because she is evidently both alive and aware inside it. "Hhk-- who... wh...?"

"T- tools, TOOLS!" Anfini cries aloud, his voice ragged, pale in the face and choking back tears. He
looks ready to vomit. "What... what gods-be-fucking-damned tools... oh my... oh my g--" Striking
away from you, he hurls himself past Akaryuterra, slamming his palms against the wall to brace
himself, breathing deeply in an attempt to keep his gorge down. A long time passes, but in a quiet,
reedy muttering, he says, "I need... ev- every... every bandage, every piece of gauze, every cloth...
 cloth THING you can bring me."


Akaryuterra pushes himself up to his feet, turning to Anfini as he drops his backpack near the end
of the bed. "I have not got bandages, specifically, but I have clean cloth, and an abundance of it,
strips ready for use." he reports, "I can get more in an instant." Standing behind Anfini now, he
places a heavy hand on his shoulder, the impact causing a visible shudder from the force. "You have
seen blood before- this is still blood, and it is blood that must be contained."

You have emoted: Eleanor breathes in wetly, sputters a little, then manages to speak again- thinly,
faintly, but audibly. "Wh... who's there." she shudders, trying to move, perhaps to lift her head.
"P. Please. I can't..."

Anfini visibly buckles beneath Akaryuterra's hand, a comfort that is more like a threat, a gesture
that has a way of both releasing his pent-up tears and sobering him again. Turning on his heel, he
issues Akaryuterra a steely-eyed stare, answering, "Then let's get to work." Returning to the bed,
there's no mistaking the intimidated way his eyes pore over you. "Director," he states, in a loud,
forceful voice, "Eleanor. Your husband and your doctor are here. Please, I need to know if you can
hear me. Blink twice in a row if you can hear me, damn it!" He drops to his knees, and with
perfectly steady hands, sets to ripping the covers from the bed, too urgent to bother with proper
procedure, tearing cloth into strips and wrapping it around whatever protrusions he can get his
hands around.

Akaryuterra speaks up, as if assuming a more commanding tone might somehow get through to you, "Do
not speak, you need to be still, love." Turning about, he returns to his backpack and opens it,
digging around inside for whatever tools he can get his hands on. What he extracts are a couple
thick needles, an immaculate scalpel and bundles of cloth.


Urgently, Dr. J. R. Anfini, the Fixer says to Akaryuterra Ryotega Junakutz-Lionheart, "Look, just--
you know how to bandage something. If you see blood, cover it, we need to get the bloodflow
contained before we do -anything- else!"

You have emoted: "I c... can hear you," Eleanor responds haltingly. "Are you..." she loses momentum
there, trailing off into gurgling quiet. Where torn flesh and injuries are usually inert, everything
here has an unsettling thrum of life- not just a mess, but a mess that is still quite alive, just
structurally coherent enough for that, of not any sort of functionality.

"Are you in pain?" Akaryuterra asks as he kneels in your blood, covering more of his considerably
pallid scales in mercurial silver. "I will do what I can," responds to Anfini. His expression is
flat as he assesses the state of chaos your form is in more closely. In one hand, he holds a bundle
of cloth, ready for use. He places his free hand on the floor, right into some of your blood,
quickly pulling it up from the fluid a moment after impact. Fluid pools and congeals, following his
hand upward in a gravity defying flow into his open hand. A spot beside him is now clear of blood.
Faint whispers slip around the room nearby as the cold of night wraps itself around the building.

You have emoted: Eleanor's eyes are half-open, and it's difficult to tell whether it is more or less
unnerving that they're not full of terror. "It hurts-" she confirms, muscles shifting in her back as
she tries to move again. "It hurts it hurts it hurts it--" the breath goes out of her, and it's
probably just as well. There is something greyish-blue in the mess, cords and lacy tendrils draped
like a doily from a nightmare over some of the carnage. A chill goes down your spine as it dawns on
you that it looks a bit like a diagram of a nervous system.

What passes is a dizzying profusion of hasty, seat-of-the-pants triage. Where Anfini finds any
organic part open and bleeding silver, he forcefully rips strips from the bedsheet, winding over
wounds in duplicate, sometimes triplicate. Scrabbling for the needle, he extracts a bit of his own
thread - normal thread, normal weave, suitable for tailoring work - and when he isn't busy bandaging,
 scrambles to close seams of flesh, to wrap bone and veins to keep them from the outside air.
"Director, explain this to me! What was the last thing you did?"

Akaryuterra leaves the spherical mass of silver fluid hanging in the air, suspended. Dropping the
pile there, he begins taking long strips and covering areas where blood flows from the mass of flesh
and bone. At your repetition of 'it hurts', his jaw tenses and quivers, his fear for her breaking
through the emotionless mask. "Several options," he states, "Venom: numbness, less effective until
bleeding is stopped. Numerology: discern and block nerves to stop pain, requires constant control
and focus." His eyes scan the tissue that looks to be a nerve, from there, he scans over the strange
cross of organic and architectural forms of several visible bones and protruding bodyparts. Grabbing
up a piece of cloth, he lays it over the source of a trickle of blood on your lower body.

You have emoted: Eleanor turns her head a little, staring upwards, her gaze going eerily through you.
 "c...ca...can't concentrate... need..." something in the mess of her lower body contracts- a muscle
still capable of behaving as one perhaps- and some of it drags across the floor with a fleshy
scraping sound. "just... n... need to concentrate, build... again."

"You're right, Commissar. We can..." Anfini stops, panting, smearing a palm against his face that's
soaked with colorless, vaguely reflective blood. It leaves a ghoulish imprint over his dead eye.
"Listen, I don't feel that I'm near as skilled as you, but for this to work... I need you to keep in
touch with her. I'll try to stop the pain, but you need to snap her out of this, get her to try to
reclaim Yuef again!"

"As I had guessed. Miscalculated attempt to change form." Akaryuterra supplies to Anfini, "Too
extensive or extreme for other methods. Potentially numerological working, but she has never used
them for a such before, I assume she would not start now." He lays an extra strip over the last.
Nodding sharply, he agrees vaguely, "Yes." The sphere of silver beside the boys floats over to the
already spattered wall and flattens to it, running down to the floor, where it pools away from his
stack of clean cloth. "Eleanor, speak less," Akaryuterra instructs, placing his hand against a
bloody would-like spot on her lower body. "I know you will not be able to concentrate well." the
Idreth informs you, "But I will make a connection to you." His eyes close.

You have emoted: Eleanor jerks, her expression contorting to something that looks like fright- and
it's a terrible, vulnerable expression. "Nn- s-stop, won't..." her fingers curl, a desperate and
feeble gesture. She doesn't seem to have the breath to explain exactly what the problem is.

Anfini lowers his other leg so he sits on his knees, and plants his hands on the edge of the bed,
taking care to choose two spots that aren't covered in Eleanor-made ooze. "I'll do the best I can to
dim the pain some," he says, "Just... just talk to your wife. Get her to reconstitute herself. She
made herself from void, this- this is nothing. She can do this..." Taking several deep breaths, he
concentrates, slowing his respiration until his pulse begins to slow. His eyes narrow to the point
that you could blindfold him with a length of string, a vain pulsating in his temple. "I begin my
search. I find pain, and I fold it." Abruptly, his eyes snap shut, the doctor himself remaining
perfectly motionless.

"Eleanor, listen to my voice. We are going to help you. Anfini will try to mitigate the pain for you,
 you need to concentrate as much as you are able," Akaryuterra instructs you slowly, and clearly, as
a doctor would to a patient. "This will not be a full connection," he assures after your feeble
attempt at protest. "I am going to aid you in visualizing, do you understand?" He waits patiently,
though his lips tug down at the corners at the passage of the first few seconds after instruction.

You have emoted: There is a long pause. Finally, Eleanor wheezes, "Yes." she shifts again, but now
it seems to be more of a gesture of relaxation than the terrible, knotted, writhing movement she'd
been haltingly exhibiting.

ANFINI SEES: There is a LOT of pain to soak up. Feeling out for what she senses is
like a slap in the face on yours- even a brush against it leaves you wondering how she's managed to
be at all coherent.

AKARY SEES: Though her shape is compromised, the thrum that sits at the root of her
existence is easily felt- she is still alive, still a numerological weight on the fabric of creation
around her. Her threads are a mismatched jangle, nowhere near the song that she usually represents.

Anfini's eyes remain shut, the nonfunctional one twitching and writhing in its socket. Abruptly, he
utters a trembling, pained cry, his knuckles going stark white as they squeeze the edge of the
mattress. His technique is sloppy, his concentration poor, but he seems to be making headway. "I...
I find the pain... and... f- fold it..." If you have the eye for it, you can see disturbances in the
air, hovering around the ceiling, like the shimmers of the Old Road in the Mhojave. Too many fingers
to count, they linger over the man's body like living vines, first groping for Akaryuterra, but
finding nothing satisfactory about him. Eventually they find their mark in you, making connections,
each shimmery, airy tendril going rigid with an orgasmic jerk. The doctor lifts his hand carefully,
and sets it to a fleshy protrusion, selected at random.

ANFINI SEES: Perhaps by accident or design, her nerves are actually quite easy to
locate- mostly because they are not buried in everything else. The various systems of her body have
been thought out, it's just that the combining of them seems to have gone completely awry.

Akaryuterra cuts out the time necessary to respond and closes his eyes, taking a breath. The only
sound in the room now is the slow, steady breath of the three men, and the occasional drip of your
disseminated blood. That drip is plenty to paint a clear mental image of the room around the boys
and Anfini from memory. Now and again, your own wheezing, wet breath will rise up from the mess of
flesh and bone that is your current body. Similarly, a weight settles, intangible to all but the
sense in your gut that tells you something isn't quite right. Akaryuterra inhales sharply in
response to something unseen, but likely very clearly felt.

At this point, the boys' own resonance is 'audible', but gentle. A mental image begins to form, hazy,
 but gaining resolution and detail by the second. With this image is a tone.

The tone is modest, somewhat deep, and with a sweet undercurrent of a slightly higher pitch than the
core resonance, familiar, but not quite clear enough to derive a frequency to imitate.

You have emoted: Eleanor seems still, docile under the tending hands. Her breaths are shallow but
even, and she doesn't try to move or interrupt anymore.

AKARY SEES: You can feel an odd stirring- she senses you, and the tone, and
attempts to reach out- the sheer chaos of her mind, what she has done to her own senses and the
effect it's having on her own mental functioning, is terrifying- she is locked at the heart of the
mess, trapped and unable to take the control she usually exhibits to rectify her mistake.

Anfini ceases to exist in the definition of a man, becoming his own tools, crude and forceful though
they may be. The heat shimmers, the wavering, fluid points in the air seek where your flesh opens
and becomes raw nerve tissue, latching to these points like lampreys. Anfini, that is the man in
which his Self typically resides, extends his arm further, pushing into the twisted, fleshy mass, so
slowly you would have to watch to catch the movement. "F- fold..." he mumbles, or sometimes, "Move
aside... sleep..." His hair stands up on the back of his neck - he hardly seems conscious.

You have emoted: The twisted, visceral mess of flesh squelches faintly as Anfini presses down, and
Eleanor shifts uncomfortably- but curiously, nowhere near as much as one would expect for having a
hand dug into the glistening, looping curves and constructs of flayed bodily systems. Her eyes are
completely open again, staring, and her lips parted in a silent gape, but it is quite clear she
makes no contact with the outer world around her.

Your blood trickles slowly from under Akaryuterra's hand as he tentatively lessens the pressure. His
head hands as he focuses more intently, his snouth angling toward the ground as his expression
relaxes. The familiar feeling all of you know intensifies, centering on you and pressing down on you.
 Even from where Anfini sits, the pull from the concentration is like sitting on a couch as another
occupant takes a seat.

The tone and the image gradually become clear enough to interpret, and even clear enough for you to
make out the minor threads that make up the core of the tone. Sensing your entanglement, Akaryuterra
redoubles his effort, and amidst the jumbled chaos of sensations and your malformed shell's
confusion, he pulls on  and begins to suppress the entanglement aroudn you. This has the odd effect
of compressing and distorting your senses further while disentangling them.

AKARY SEES: "aaaaAAAAAAAaaaaAkary." her voice comes together from a collection of
related but not accurate sounds, with a multitonal hum that threatens its coherence. "Isthatyou."
The contact seems alien, disoriented, but you have caused enough calm that she can communicate back.

Anfini betrays sloppy technique: though he seems to be maintaining some sort of control over your
pain, the vectors often misfire, and as a result, he has opened up small wounds all over his face
and body that, disturbingly, bleed the same silver as yours. His good eye is opened to the merest
slit, bloodshot along the length of the cornea, every vein in his face and neck standing out crisply.
 The only movement in the man's body at all is in his extended arm, trembling faintly, fingers dug
into this erratic, visceral muck.

"It is." His voice surrounds, you, permeates the mental space you have both come to occupy. "Feel me."
 he instructs as though the task were simple. There is a report from one of your senses, however. A
push? A pull? A twist? Hard to say exactly, but it seems to resemble something of a tactile
sensation.

ANFINI SEES: You can feel the panicked working of what functional organs she had
begin to slow, begin to calm, as you siphon off the crisis-mode feedback that had been jangling on
her displaced nervous system. It feels almost like pain or cold, but delivered at such a pitch that
it's not quite either- but whatever it is, it's enough to seriously challenge your ability to
concentrate.

Akaryuterra gives a tiny nod and leans his weight forward slightly, pressing his hand more firmly to
the bloody wound-like opening. A sickening, wet gurgle comes from the impromptu orifice as the
trickle of blood becomes an upwelling between his fingers.

ANFINI SEES: The act of balancing mental control and segregating, while still
holding, the feedback becomes a tangible challenge, something that will need determination to defeat-
 but something which sheer, bloody-minded determination may be able to subdue.

AKARY SEES: "The pain is absent," she notes, in a strange, clinical voice, like
someone speaking from over the shoulder of all of this. "can'tseewhere..." the feel of her ripples
against your contact, like a wave brushing the shore. "Needtofindthetemplate." Her physical body
jerks, abruptly, shuddering as more of her silvery blood leaks out. "Notmuchtime."

You hear it, just for a moment. The tone is clear, but faint. It would require a greater mental
strain to clearly take hold of. "Grabtakefeel, I humresonate what I remember for you. My body knows,
I picturehold it." Senses buckle strangely as he forces his way deeper through the tangle to seek
out your effective range. Ghostly, and faint, you feel a leg attached to the mass of your lower body,
 conflicting with the present sensation of an unrefined mass of flesh.

"Hhhhurry," Anfini croaks, desperate. As punishment for his abrupt break in concentration, he nearly
screams as a broad, grotesque gash splits his neck, more of the silvered blood pouring freely.
Consequently, a smattering of your flesh sucks and pulls together, breaking the stitchings and
lightening to a color that mimics Anfini's exact skintone. He wills himself back inward, shuddering
as his eye unfocuses once more, his jaw clenched and entire body poised, recovering equilibrium with
precise, fragile care.

A flicker of a body passes over you, familiar in the same way you know Akaryuterra's body the last
the two of your connected. This form is much more familiar, short, stout, broad-hipped. You feel a
ghost of a smile on lips that brush by your consciousness.

You have emoted: Eleanor's fingers twitch, her mangled body shuddering under Numerological pressure
from two angles- it gasps a wet, strangled breath, but is otherwise silent.

AKARY SEES: "I see it." she echoes, and you can feel the building thrum of
something on the edge of perception. "I'm going to try. Wishmeluck."

Akaryuterra's brow furrows deeply. "Trying." he responds tersely in a low voice.

"MM." Akaryuterra murmurs in response to an unheard prompt.

You feel them nod, and then feel a vocalization followed by a distant sound you can't quite
understand through your mangled senses.

Anfini's eye flickers toward Akaryuterra. This seems to be the most he can do without causing rips
or errors in time and space.

You have emoted: Eleanor is still for a few moments, and then something goes violently wrong in the
room- perception twists, and your senses clash, feeding back on the wrong nerves and blowing your
feeling wide open- everything is light and sound, colour and confusion, jangling and searing and
putting pressure on your brain like the high-pitched sound that comes after deafness. Abruptly, the
mangled flesh of her goes out from under you- your hands hit the floor as she unravels suddenly,
first visible as dust and tangible as a skein of blue-white on your senses, and then a flicker, and
nothing. Even the blood is gone. Your brain rocks back on its suspension in the wake of the mental
explosion, and for a time, there is quiet.

Riding her chariot of light, the great life-giver rises from her long sleep and shoots a timorous
ray over the horizon.

Anfini collapses, tumbling backward as if pushed gently away from the bed. He seizes at his head,
seeking to get the colossal headache that develops under control, and doesn't seem to be cogent of
what's just happened yet.

As the space you occupies warps and changes, Akaryuterra's hands hit the ground as his weight falls
forward. In a quick knee-jerk reaction to the sudden jostling clash of sensations and confusion, he
leans back and throws a hand up to the side of his hand, turning away from the Idrethi equivalent of
a flash bomb.

BOTH SEE: The rising sun sends a crack of light in through the curtains,
splashing across the rumpled covers of the bed, the now-clean floor and shreds of cloth left behind.


Akaryuterra pants, swaying woozily with a hand on his head. He tries to open his mouth, but nothing
comes out, though his lips and tongue move in an attempt to pull together some kind of intelligable
noise. His senses in thorough disarray, he tries to move but ends up backing into the wall of the
bedroom. Parting his eyelids and dropping his hand from his face, his eyes roll down, but drift one
direction has his head lulls to the side. "Ff-ff," is all the sound he manages as his eyes focus on
the now clean space.

Anfini hitches himself up onto his elbow, and looks like he just survived Sapience's end-of-the-
world afterparty with a hangover appropriate for the occasion. His first impulse, on seeing no you
where there should be you, is to gasp, succumb to panic perhaps, but rationality takes over quickly.
"Director? Director! Are you there somewhere?"


You conjure up the illusion: As abruptly as everything had returned to coherence, a low hum begins
to make itself audible. This time it is slower, building, a sweeping tone that feels strange and
familiar all to once, and something seems to tug at the room, an intangible lean inward like a
weight being dropped onto a sheet. The sound-feeling builds, almost brushing the tangible and the
audible.

You conjure up the illusion: And again, a sudden change- it's gone, and in its place there is a
small, dark figure- still strange, but wonderfully familiar, given the circumstances.

You will now be described as " and is a somewhat disorienting creature to look upon. Ambient light
seems to simply fall away into her, rendering her shape down to a black silhouette which seems to
lack depth from any angle, despite still occupying a three dimensional space. The silhouette is
humanoid and feminine in shape, delineating a broad-hipped and stocky build, but little else is
discernible. The only feature readily recognisable are her eyes- two blazing points of blue-white
essence stare out at the world like twin stars in an otherwise empty night sky."

Your pose is now set as:
Eleanor lies here, a dark shape curled on the floor.

(Spinesreach): Moirean says, "Anything new in the city?"

Akaryuterra reaches out shakily and thumps his hand against the floor, fingers curling instinctively
while he remains disoriented. Given Anfini's half-assed semblance of recovery at this point, he
still appears as though heavily drugged. His movements become more animated, but he has no such luck
with his coordination. His other arm lifts and wavers, but falls atop his motionless tail, followed
by an uncomfortable noise from the boys.

(Spinesreach): Xenia says, "Not much new this month, Ser."

Moirean tells you, "Has the Cabal had time to give the doctor a once-over? Clear him for duty?"

(Spinesreach): Anfini says, "Good morning, Chairwoman! Nothing to report, currently!"

You tell Moirean Seirath, "Nnnghwhat."

You sense Conduit Yusri Zuhayr in the realm.
(Cabalists): Yusri says, "Good morning."

Anfini's eyes slam shut. He rubs them, considerably, for what seems like forever, opening them again,
 squinting, blinking at you lying inert, in a loose fetal position. The cry he utters is guttural,
and would be happy-sounding if not for hoarseness. He pushes himself hastily to his feet, loping
over to give Akaryuterra a swat on the shoulder. "Commissar! Up, up, look!"

Moirean tells you, "I...The doctor? The Conduit assured me the Cabal would look him over."

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "Good morning, Conduit!"

(Spinesreach): Moirean says, "You are suspiciously loud."

You tell Moirean Seirath, "Sss. Sorting it."
Moirean tells you, "...is something wrong?"

(Cabalists): Akaryuterra says, "G-gln m."

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "The Commissar is happy to see you, as well. Forgive us, we're a little
wrapped up."

Akaryuterra's head bobs in the same way as someone trying to stay awake through exhaustion. That
seems about the most he can manage in the way of acknowledgement for the time being. His tail curls
slowly, dragging across the floor as he uses his fingers to crawl one hand closer to your curled
form.

Anfini lets the lovers reunite, watching them with a smile. His chipper, suspiciously energized
demeanor lingers, even as he collects the suture needle, prodding at the breach in his neck.

You have emoted: Eleanor stirs, and takes a sudden, deep, and reflexive breath. It's difficult to
tell if she is intact, what with her lack of definition and foreshortening being a thing, but
there's no blood at least.

Akaryuterra sucks in a deep breath finally and turns his hand over, his palm waiting patiently as
near to you as he can get it. His back straightens and he presses back against the wall for support.
"Gl-g-good," he eventually stutters.

You have emoted: Eleanor's eyes flicker dimly to life- it doesn't look like she's up to moving too
terribly much, but she seems to recognise the waiting hand- she weakly lifts her own, managing to
get it far enough to flop down again with her fingers resting on Akaryuterra's.

Akaryuterra settles down as soon as your fingers make contact, content to simply take deep breaths
and let his senses untangle themselves. He drags his free hand into his lap, resting it atop one of
his thigh. His fingertips are black, and the coloration spreads a few short inches up each digit in
a strange pattern with edges reminiscient of a fractal.

"Fuck's sake," Anfini mumbles, whether it's your appearance or his wound is anyone's guess. With a
frank lack of caution, or even much of a registry of pain, he begins to stitch at his neck,
carefully pulling his flesh back together. This seems an afterthought to him; he has enough time to
watch you and Akaryuterra, recognize the intimacy of the moment, and turn away.

AKARY SEES: "Are you there." It's not even a voice, really, just the faintest echo,
distant, as if carried on the wind.

Akaryuterra exhales sharply and finally sits forward, balancing under his own will. "Mmm," he
affirms, curling the figers that touch your.

AKARY SEES: "Am I here." It sounds like an honest enquiry.

Akaryuterra scoots away from the wall in order to better grasp your hand. He tucks his legs in and
leans on his knees, watching your form.

Akaryuterra murmurs to you, "Yes."

Anfini performs his needlework diligently, too precise to be anything but practiced. "It's official,
" he declares, "I shall tender my resignation from the Cabal, because every month is a new way to
shave twenty years from my life." He turns back around and approaches the pair, his boots touching
softly against the floor. "Director? Are you quite alright?"

You have emoted: Eleanor rouses, just a little, but doesn't seem to get too terribly far before
relaxing back into stillness.

AKARY SEES: "Difficult to tell."

Mustering the ability to speak at last, Akaryuterra reminds Anfini pointedly, just above a whisper,
"Without these risks, you would be bored to tears in days."

"Look... she's reformed, now -- just dazed, I'd think. Her brain probably needs a little time to
settle back to normal and pick up Yuef once more. It's not good for me to be in the city, so..."
Anfini nudges his head upwards, indicating the ceiling. "Give her all the care you can, I'm going to
go vomit. Sound good?"

ANFINI SEES: It's not a voice really, not a sound, more a hint of one as if carried
on the wind. "Thank you."

Akaryuterra Ryotega Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Indeed."

Akaryuterra shakes his head to wipe away the last of his disorientation. "I suppose...I ought to let
you out."

Anfini mouths the words 'you're welcome,' gazing imperiously at your prone body. His lower lip
quivers, his skin as pale as a ghost. "Don't you dare leave her side. That's doctor's orders, do you
understand me?" His stitching is half-finished, his other wounds fresh and sluggish with your
coagulated blood, and still he cocks a salute against his brow, takes a step back, and vanishes from
sight.

A gentle humming fills the area for a moment as Anfini concentrates, fading away again as Anfini
blinks out of sight.

Akaryuterra takes his hand from your gently and plants both hands on the ground, leaning forward to
lever his large frame up from the floor. "Can you get up, love?"

You have emoted: Eleanor stirs a little, making an attempt at getting up- she doesn't get far. "Hhhn.
 Nope." she's audible, at least.

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "I'd like to repeat it here - I formally request that... well... whatever
the hell you did to the Chairwoman, you do to me. I'm sick of this self-imposed exile. That said, it
can wait until the Director's recovered."

(Cabalists): Yusri says, "Recovered?"

(Cabalists): Yusri says, "What.. exactly where you three doing?"

(Cabalists): Akaryuterra says, "Fixing a hell of a mistake."

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "Failed remanifestation of physical form, resulting in..."
(Cabalists): Anfini says, "I don't have a professional word. It was a fleshy mess."

(Cabalists): Yusri says, "I believe the technical term may be a cock-up."

(Cabalists): Yusri says, "Unexpected. The Director remains sane?"

(Cabalists): Anfini says, "Wasn't quite a cock-up. She wound up with a perfectly good body... it's
just that all the bits were in the wrong places, and, well, it was pretty painful. I was able to
suppress the pain long enough while Commissar Junakutz-Lionheart helped her focus. She was able to
remaster herself and reconfigure into something more familiar."

(Cabalists): Yusri says, "Good."

(Spinesreach): Moirean says, "Director."
(Spinesreach): Moirean says, "Are you."
(Spinesreach): Moirean says, "I don't know. Cognizant. Alive."

<Elea doesn't answer, and Akary and I disengage for now because hnngh falling asleep and needing food etc.
Anfini goes on to be incarcerated, we find out that Yusri bleeds espresso, and Spinesreach gets a new prison cell.
Good times!>