[Open] - Wikus's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Month

[onthehalfshell]

who: Wikus and ANYBODY
what: Wikus makes a scene in public. Repeatedly
when: Mid-April on
where: Various
warnings: Body horror, gruesome nightmares, bad feelings.


1. Sleep isn't for the weak - Around town

Wikus hasn't been sleeping well.

There's several reasons for it, starting with the physical discomfort. It's not even pain a lot of the time - though occasionally he gets strange cramps in his muscles or guts, sharp enough to wake him. Mostly it's an itching under his remaining skin that can't be scratched, and he doesn't want to scratch anyway because it will probably mean more blood on his sheets. Or it's the tenderness where new exoskeleton is poking through, uncomfortable to put weight on, or his irritated flesh chafing against the sheets. Sometimes it's impossible to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

When he does manage to get comfortable, then he has to deal with the existential dread. It usually hits just as he's dozing off, like a hypnic jerk, the sudden fear that if he falls asleep he'll wake up a completely different person, completely transformed, not himself anymore. It leaves him clutching his pillow, heart pounding with adrenaline, and sometimes the feeling lasts for hours.

But despite those issues, he does manage to sleep on occasion. Sometimes it's in his actual bed, maybe even at night like a regular person. More often it's when exhaustion catches up to him at random locations.

Most commonly he can be found passed out in awkward positions in Floor 8’s living room chairs, having nodded off while watching television or reading. But not all his impromptu naps are kept to a semi-private space. He can doze off anywhere he sits still for a few minutes: at coffee shops, or restaurant tables, in the library or the hospital waiting room, even on park benches when he stops for a rest. Sometimes he snores.

Unfortunately for him, falling asleep doesn't mean getting any rest, because that's when the nightmares come. Often they're just memories: the moment he first saw his mutant hand and the struggle that followed; his mistreatment in the labs underneath MNU; so many people exploding into sprays of flesh and blood from the gun in his hand...

Sometimes the memories turn into twisted versions of events where he didn't manage to narrowly escape various horrible fates: being strapped down and dissected alive, somehow never falling unconscious even as they carefully pull out all of his organs, not even when he feels the buzz of a saw cutting open his skull-

Or he'll be held captive by the Nigerians again, forced to watch and feel as they slice off his arm, leaving him to bleed out on the ground as they cook up his alien flesh to feed to Obesandjo.

But the worst, the absolute worst...

Wikis stands in front of the burning shack, watching Prawn eggs burst, pop, pop, pop, laughing with Thomas and Trent. Nothing out of the normal, just another day on the job, why would he care it's just Prawns, they're just aborting.

"Wikus!" It's Tania's, calling to him. She's among the burning eggs, her body strung up like the rotting cow, filthy tubes piercing her swollen belly, clearly pregnant. "Wikus please!"

But he doesn't seem to notice, or doesn't care. He's just doing his job, just hanging out with the boys. Tania's pleas get louder as she burns, and he doesn't care, and then her belly bursts-

Sleeping in public is pretty embarrassing. Having nightmares in public is mortifying. If he's lucky he just jolts awake, skin pale, damp with sweat, breathing heavy. If he's unlucky he'll come to thrashing and screaming, or with a heaving stomach that has him rushing for the nearest bathroom or trash bin.

He'd rather nobody saw him like that, but in a populated city it's inevitable.


2. Skin crawling good time - From Nature to Hearth Restaurant

Wikus hisses as the persistent itching in his scalp shifts into a sharp pinching sensation and he's suddenly assaulted with the scent (or is it taste?) of blood. It's a bit of an odd change, since his sense of smell had been half-dead for awhile, like with a cold but without the stuffiness.

He lets his spoon sit in the meaty bowl of stew he's eating and lifts his human hand ( though it's now got a few dark patches of alien skin) to push under his hood and rub at his head. He keeps his fully alien hand under the table.

His fingers scrape against his scalp, searching for the source of discomfort. He's completely bald now, having decided it would look better to shave off the patchy remnants of his hair. Now his head is just a mix of pale skin, irritated red skin, and nobs of exoskeleton. And now-

Something under his scalp twitches, and he barely manages to smother a startled shout. He can feel the movement under his fingertips, and as a sensation like a spasming muscle.

Swearing under his breath, Wikus quickly abandons his meal and heads for the men's room.

Looking into the mirror, he pushed back his hood to get a good look at his head. Two patches of chitin run from his temples to the top of his skull, surrounded by split and swollen skin. And trailing from the left patch, there's now a small raised ridge of skin, following the curve of his scalp. As he watches, the ridge twitches, accompanied by a spike of that pinching sensation.

"Fok!" His hands slam against the sink, making the mirror rattle. Then, after a few heavy breaths, he lifts his hand back to his scalp. Gripping the edge of the sink tightly with his alien hand, his human fingers begin to worry at the line where shell gives way to flesh, scraping and prodding, pushing under.

Throat tight, teeth clenched, breathing rapidly through his nose, he can only make a choked grunt of distress as his fingers close around something hard, smooth, and thin. Steeling himself further, he very carefully begins to ease what's almost certainly an antenna out from under his scalp.

One inch, two inch- Wikus begins to whine. It's ingrown all the way to the back of his skull, he can feel it sliding out from under his skin.

Five inch, six inch- He keeps up a constant litany of "Fok, fok, fok, fok..." under his breath, trying not to hyperventilate.

Nine inch, ten inch- At almost a foot long, the entire antenna slips free, splattering the mirror with drops of blood as it springs into a forward position. Suddenly he can smell/taste everything.

He pauses for a moment to stare at his reflection, new appendage twitching in the air. Then he begins swearing in earnest.


3. Guy cries over fireflies - Somewhere inside of the city

Insomnia means Wikus often finds himself out at odd hours of the day. Going for a walk at 4am? Why not. The city is quieter then anyway. Fewer people to run into.

So he's on his way home as the sun begins to rise, and is witness to the sudden swarm of rainbow lights that descends upon the city.

"That's new," he mumbles to himself, pausing to watch the little dancing lights. It's... really pretty. Beautiful. He wishes Tania could see it...

One of the little blue motes descends towards him, and he realizes it's some sort of firefly. Slowly, he holds out his right hand and the bug actually lands in it! Wikus's mouth quirks into a half-smile. It's kind of cute, for a bug.

Until it goes and bites him.

"Ow! You little-"

The grief hits him like a punch to the gut, intense enough make him double over. He isn't exactly in a great mental state at the best of times lately, and suddenly all the pain and guilt and homesickness boils up inside of him, forcing itself out of him in a scream.

"Oh God, oh fok." His chest is so tight it hurts to breathe and tears are already running down his face. "Tania-! I can't- I'm sorry, I'm so fokken sorry-!"

He slowly crumples to the ground in the middle of the sidewalk, forehead pressed to the pavement, and begins to sob. None of that soft sobbing either. He's full out bawling, like he hasn't done since he broke his leg as a child.

Life just doesn't let up, does it?


4. Wildcard! If you have any ideas, just hit me up at MonkeysInPants or PM!

Comments

3

[howlongiwonder]

[Footsteps can be heard in the calm, quiet night - though Wikus is probably in no condition to pay attention to that now. Either way, he is no longer alone.

A strange woman dressed all in black is leaning above him, staring intently despite the blindfold that should for all intents and purposes be blocking her eyesight.]

...

[She sighs quietly. 2B isn't sure what to do here - what even can she do, but she won't just walk away. The visible part of her face shows obvious concern.]

[onthehalfshell]

[It takes awhile for Wikus to notice he's no longer alone, lost in his crushing fit of sorrow. At one point he rolls onto his side, only to cover his face with his mismatched hands, wailing into his palms.

It's his new twitching antenna that finally cues him in, smelling... something. Someone. His sobs catch in his throat, and his hands pull away from his face to stare at the strange woman looming over him.

His red-rimmed eyes are wide, stray tears still escaping to track down his cheeks, but he's​ at least momentarily been startled out of dramatic display of grief.

His throat works as if he plans to say something, but the only sound that comes out is heavy breathing interrupted by an occasional hitch.

Finally he croaks out a single word.]

What?

[howlongiwonder]

[2B blinks (not that anyone can see that), her eyebrows raised in surprise. She has seen some weird things but even by her standards, Wikus's appearance is not exactly ordinary. More importantly though, she has seen many people in horrible pain, physical or mental. This man is obviously one of them.

She extends her hand to him.]

Can you stand up?

[onthehalfshell]

[He stares in confusion at the wraps over the woman's eyes - can she see through that?? - and then in equal confusion at the offered hand. Finally his mind reminds him why he's on the ground in the first place.

With a moan of distress, Wikus rolls onto his back, covering his face with his hands again.]

I don't deserve to get up. I belong here. In the fokken dirt.

[howlongiwonder]

We rarely get what we deserve.

[2B leans in closer. She doesn't want to be pushy, at first she wanted to check if the man is alright. But the answer here is clearly "no".]

Regardless of our pasts we are all here now.

From all the places in the city, you pick dirt. Why?

[onthehalfshell]

My past is shit, my future is shit, it's all fokked-

[Wikus is startled out of his rising dramatics by 2B's question, his immediate confusion floating up to the surface of the wave of firefly-induced sorrow.]

I didn't- [His voice cracks a bit and he clears his throat, followed by a loud snuffle.] I didn't pick it, man.

[howlongiwonder]

You were cast here by others. Or maybe by fate itself.

[That wasn't a question, but a statement. She reaches out with her hand once again.]

The past can't be changed anymore. But why is your future shit? At least we're still alive.

[onthehalfshell]

[Why do people keep talking to him about fate? Normally he brushes it off, but today it just affirms the certainty that he's destined for misery and it's all his fault.]

I haven't got a life anymore. It's all ruined. I lost everything.

[Arms falling away to drape limply over his chest and against the ground, he stares blankly up at the sky, the occasional fresh tear tracking down his face. His left eye doesn't cry as much as his right anymore.]

I'm never getting any of it back

[howlongiwonder]

[2B purses her lips. She doesn't know the circumstances behind this man's past... but it all sounds so very familiar anyway.

What word of encouragement could she say that wouldn't sound hollow?]

Then there's the two of us.

Though I didn't have much of a life to begin with.

i

[toolatetochangethename]

Scott's not exactly a master of the Mean Streets or anything, but he's hung out with some shady people in some shady places. And he can only blame like...half of them on Luis.

And he's still got enough new hero complex that, yeah, okay, he's busted: walking the streets looking for people to help. He hasn't been a good guy for very long, and it's definitely one of those 'perishable skills'.

And it's kind of hard to miss someone bolting up from a pile of cardboard and making a mad dash toward a dumpster. "Hey!" The guy doesn't quite knock him over, but almost.

[onthehalfshell]

Wikus is too busy violently depositing his most recent meal into the nearest dumpster to take notice of Scott. The fleeting nightmare memories he's trying his hardest not to think about don't help his situational awareness much either.

When his nausea settles a little - do not think about that dream again, do not - he leans his arms against the dumpster, puts his head down, and just breathes heavily.

On the plus side, he can't smell much at the moment. On the negative side... Literally everything else about this situation.

[toolatetochangethename]

Yeah, well, consider Scott distracted for a minute or two trying not to throw up at the sound of the other guy throwing up. Maybe the other dude can't smell it, but he can. EURK.

"Dude, you should maybe go to a hospital." Because that shit might be contagious.

[onthehalfshell]

Wikus is so very tired of people telling him to see a doctor. He's already been! So many times! He's ignoring the fact that puking in dumpsters isn't quite the same context as people just being creeped out by his face.

"I al-" His voice comes out creaky, and he coughs as he turns to face his current hassler. He swipes a sleeve across his mouth and chin. Between things like this and the occasional spontaneous bleeding he ends up doing an unfortunate amount of laundry. "I already been, man!"

He pauses and looks close at Scott. "Hey, I know you."

Look Scott, it's him, that half-alien mutant guy you were chatting with! For his part Wikus looks worse than usual. His pallid and sweaty post-nightmare complexion really brings out the dark bags under his eyes and the inflamed blotches on his skin.

[toolatetochangethename]

"Sorry, dude!" Hands up, he's going to back away, just in case the barf-cannon was loading up another round.

Hey, he didn't mean it like that. Just...seriously. That's some serious retching. Maybe getting a professional involved wouldn't be such a bad thing!

"Yeah, hey, that's great. What the hell are doing out here, though? I mean, looks kinda, you know, shifty." And he knows about shifty!

[onthehalfshell]

Wikus lifts his hand to rub over his scalp - so little hair left - but thinks better of it at the last second. Do not put puke-hand on your head.

"Scott, right?" He's stalling as he glanced around the - admittedly rather seedy - alley, trying to remember how he ended up in this particular location. "I, uh, I got tired on my walk. So I sat down to rest a little."

He's pretty sure that's what happened. Being drop-dead tired kind of leaves things a little fuzzy.

[toolatetochangethename]

"Yeah, hey," A wince because, yeah, that looks like barf hand. "That's me. Scott." Aaaaand he'd rather not shake hands, okay?

"Right. So. Just out for a walk. I get it. I mean. You sure don't look like some kind of mugger or anything." Sorry, but Wikus hardly looks like he could beat a wet squirrel in a fight.

[onthehalfshell]

Don't worry, between barf hand and alien hand, Wikus isn't keen on offering any of his hands for shaking. His body can do the shaking instead. He's rocking a constant mild tremor at the moment.

"Look, I haven't been sleeping, man." That's pretty obvious from the massive dark circle under his human eye. "Sometimes it catches up with me."

2

[ragnarsson]

Ivar had stopped by the restaurant after chatting with a chef working there on the network. Indeed, the food was as good as he'd been told. He got one or two stares from the other patrons when he decided to forgo the silverware and just use his fingers, but whatever, he was already considered a barbarian back home.

The sudden movement as Wikus abruptly gets up gets his attention. There's the man who was turning into a--what was the word again?-- alien. Right. From the brief glimpse Ivar gets as he rushes past, it looks like his condition has only gotten worse. He should stay at his table. It's none of his business. Nah. Where's the fun in that? He wheels himself to the men's room and pushes open the door, just in time to see that new antennae flicking about. That is seriously gross and this is coming from someone whose seen men's intestines fall out after they were disemboweled. "Now there's something you don't see every day," the Viking remarks from his position near the door.

[onthehalfshell]

Wikus jerks around at the sound of Ivar's voice, punctuating his cursing fit with, "Fok, man!"

He tries to cover up the new antenna with one hand, but for one, even his Prawn hand is too small to properly hide it and two, he flinches away because it's weird and gross and sensitive and weird. Also, given the rest of him, what's even the point?

"You scared the crap out of me!"

[ragnarsson]

"Then you scare easily." Nothing scares Ivar much except the idea of being in open water. Logical fear for someone who can't move his legs. He'd sink like a stone if he fell out of a boat. But because he's so fearless, he thinks a little less of people who aren't. He wheels himself closer, his blue eyes intent on Wikus' mutated form. In person, Wikus looks far more gnarly then he did over the network.

"Is that an antennae?" He kind of wants to touch it. Is that weird?

[onthehalfshell]

"Gee, man, I can't imagine why I might be a little on edge!" Use sarcasm as a shield against panic. You might think he'd be used to his body making strange changes by now, but he really, really isn't.

He takes a couple of deep breaths and gets a better look at Ivar. "Hey, you're that viking kid. You-"

No, Wikus, keep your foot out of your mouth and don't bring up how surprised you are that he's in a wheelchair. The kid knows how to swing an axe.

"-uh, yeah. It's- it's an antenna." Just saying it gives him a little shudder. He has an antenna. One of four. He doesn't want to have to do this three more times.

[ragnarsson]

Ivar's eyes narrow when Wikus cuts himself off and his eyes go ice cold. It's like he knows exactly what he was going to say. He's experienced it many times with people. At least the kinder ones didn't mention his disability or were merely curious. The cruel ones mocked him and the truly nasty ones laughed at him. But there weren't many left in that last category. Ivar didn't let those type of people live very long.

Burying his anger down, a long-formed habit, Ivar focuses instead on the man's unique condition. "Did it hurt coming in?" That thing looks really long and it looked like it had sprouted right out of Wikus' skull.

[onthehalfshell]

Wheelchairs and Vikings don't match in Wikus's mind. He has so many questions...

Instead of asking any of them, he scowls at himself in the mirror and doesn't gawk. He carefully prods at the point where the antenna meets the exoskeleton lining his scalp.

"Less than you'd think. Like a huge fokken splinter."

Turning into an alien should really be agonizing, but it's mostly just deeply uncomfortable with the occasional ache or pain.

[ragnarsson]

Ivar watches as the antenna twitches back and forth, nearly identical to the small ones on tiny bugs, save for the size of it. "Then at least you've been given that mercy." Transformations in Norse legends were nearly always painful when they were given out as a punishment. Men got turned into dragons for their greed or into a wolf for their bloodthirsty nature.

"Can I touch it?" Was that a rude question? It probably was. Ivar didn't care. He has very little in the way of tact when it comes to other people's personal space.

[onthehalfshell]

"Not much of a-" Wikus's mutter is interrupted by Ivar's request and he sputters. "What? Why would you- No you can't touch it! It's part of my head, man! You don't just go around asking to touch people's heads."

Or maybe that's a thing Vikings do. He's not really sure. Still, it's his creepy new head appendage. He doesn't even want to touch it himself, let alone someone else - Though he does lay his Prawn hand protectively over the antenna.