onthehalfshell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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riverviewlogs2017-04-21 05:49 pm
onthehalfshell) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-04-21 05:49 pm
[Open] - Wikus's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Month
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![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
MonkeysInPants or PM!
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
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"Tch. Spoilsport." Ivar looks a bit put out. C'mon, it's not like there's another half-alien person he can ask about their appendages.
no subject
"Hey, if you're going to gawp at me like I'm part of some freak show, at least pass me some of that paper towel." Still covering his antenna, he points at the towel dispenser. Near the door, it's closer to Ivar.
no subject
"I don't think you're a freak." This is said quietly and a quick look of vulnerability flashes over Ivar's face as he wheels over and passes the paper towels over to Wikus. Seeing as how most people at home consider him to be one for being unable to walk, he's the last person to judge someone based on what they looked like. "Just interesting."
no subject
Wikus stares for a silent moment, before taking the paper towel from Ivar. He is definitely a freak, but it's nice for someone to say they think otherwise.
"I- thanks, man," he says softly. Turning back to the mirror he starts dabbing at his antennae, gauging how sensitive and delicate they might be.
no subject
"So when's the other one coming in?" He assumes there has to be a second antenna. Small bugs have them and it would look asymmetrical otherwise.
no subject
Wikus pauses in wiping down his antenna. "You know what? Fok politeness."
He rubs at the right side of his head, the ridges of chitin less pronounced than on the left. "No idea. Soon probably, depending on treatment. And two little ones as well."
His fingers come away red and he switches his attention to wiping down his scalp after wetting a wad of paper towel in the sink.
no subject
"You're going to be quite the sight soon enough." He remembers Wikus telling him he's going to end up looking like a great big bug when he's done transforming. At home, the Vikings likely would have killed anyone who ended up in such a state for fear they were some creature from a different realm. Or maybe just captured him so they could figure out just what he was.
no subject
"I'm already a sight, man," Wikus says. "A right terrible one." A pause. "At least I'll match though."
He doesn't really want to be a Prawn and lose all his human features, but being all of one thing seems better than being a horrifying muddke of two things.
no subject
He'd never known anyone who had transformed into something else. Well, except for Loki, but those were voluntary transformations. This was something else entirely. He wheels himself back towards the door. It looks like the most exciting part is over and he did interrupt his meal to come in here.
no subject
There's something not quite right about that boy, but Wikus assumes it just a viking thing or something.
Sighing, he looks over the speckles of blood splattered across the mirror and wall.
"Looks like I tried to murder someone in here," he mumbles, before starting to wipe it away