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riverviewlogs2017-06-07 03:24 pm
onthehalfshell) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-06-07 03:24 pm
[OPEN] June Catch-All - Ch-ch-changes
who: Wikus and YOU
what: Wikus gets his metamorphosis over with, bit by bit.
when: Month of June
where: Various (Floor 8 Community Housing, Bar, Hospital, wherever)
warnings: Transformation body-horror, possible talk about dicks (or lack thereof), gender essentialist talk?
i. My Body Is A Cage
Wikus does his best to settle into a routine - he's sleeping regularly now, he's got a job, his checkups at the hospital are scheduled - but it's hard to really feel settled when his body keeps shaking things up and making normal tasks difficult.
Eating, for one, is a pain in the ass when you have no teeth. And without being able to breathe through his nose he isn't about to try and swallow bites whole like he'd seen Prawns do. That seemed like a good way to choke to death. So now every mealtime he slurps down a not-especially-appetizing-looking, specially prescribed, nutrient slurry. It tastes a lot better than it looks.
Getting dressed was awkward as well. He's got barbs that keep catching on his clothing, and sometimes his antenna seem to be deliberately getting in his way… He's starting to see the logic behind Christopher Johnson's improvised vest.
His manual dexterity only gets worse when his four mostly-human fingers start fusing together into two, and soon he's fumbling everything. It really doesn't help that he has only one thumb (he really regrets chopping off his left one).
Next to go is his ability to walk. It's not surprising that his legs started shifting out of sync, but being lopsided definitely does a number on your mobility. He tries out crutches first, but it's not long before he can't walk more than a few meters before his legs start burning and his joints throb. The doctors try to explain it as something to do with the stresses of intermediate forms between digitigrade and plantigrade legs, but all it really means to him is that until his legs finish growing out, he'll be stuck in a wheelchair.
Physically, it's easier than he expected. There's a strength in his alien arms that he's never had as a human. As far as actually navigating the chair goes… that he needs practice with. In the meantime, door frames and unguarded toes need to watch out.
ii. Pour One Out
Losing body parts wasn't easy on the psyche. He got used to losing teeth after the first several dropped out. Peeling away his earlobes left him sick and shook both times. He wasn't able to look himself in the mirror straight after the fleshy remainder of his nose came off (the underlying structures long gone).
But it's only the loss of a particular, ahem, set of body parts that has Wikus skipping out on work to snivel pathetically in a bar, surrounded by a growing forest of empty beer bottles.
iii. Breathless
Even going uphill, Wikus rarely finds himself out of breath from rolling around in his hospital-loaned wheelchair. So why, going at a leisurely pace as he is now, is he panting like he just finished a jog.
Stopping to rest, he can't seem to catch his breath, and he feels a thread of panic. If anything, the feeling gets worse, going from panting to outright gasping. He sucks in as deep a breath as he can and then… nothing. He can't exhale. He can't inhale. He can't breathe.
Clutching at his throat and chest, his diaphragm heaves uselessly and he can't even get out a choking noise. Yes, he is definitely panicking now.
iv. Impatient Inpatient
After the harrowing incident when Wikus's breathing switched from trachea to gills, he and the hospital staff decide it’s best for him to stay at the hospital for awhile. It isn't his favorite decision - he still has flashbacks sometimes to being strapped to a dissection table - but it’s better to have doctors immediately on hand in case any of his other major organs decide to fail during the transition.
The transformation is largely complete now, most of the remaining changes being internal. His mouth parts are growing in, but for awhile he's completely mute. Even once they do grow in, it's still a struggle to figure out how to speak with them. Human phonemes are completely unpronounceable now, and understanding the Prawn language is a lot different than speaking it.
Fairly often he can be found practicing speech in a mirror, trying to figure out how to make the various sounds he remembers learning. Other times he's wandering the hospital grounds, either in his chair or wobbling unsteadily on nearly-transformed legs. Sometimes he's up in his assigned room, either lounging in bed watching TV or doing his job remotely from the small desk.
All in all, the last days of his transformation are pretty damn boring. He could use some company.
v. Beautiful Butterfly
It's a relief when he's finally discharged from the hospital. All the tests show that his body has reached its new equilibrium. It's not the body he wants, but being all one thing feels better than being a jumble of mismatched pieces.
He's taken Christopher's example to heart, and taken to wearing vests with comfortably wide arm holes. He likes them baggy, hanging down to bunch over the pronounced crests of his hips. Tops meant to be tight on humans just look odd on his Prawn body, snug around the chest then drooping listlessly, unable to sit close to his incredibly thin abdomen.
Bottoms are a bigger problem. Pants are right out. He does his best with baggy shorts with elastic waists or draw strings, but he has to admit they look odd, stretched over his hips but with waistbands too wide to sit snug on his belly. It's better than being naked, though. He can work on it.
The first place he goes on being set free is the nearest park. He stands in the grass for a long time, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of it under his bare - though tough-shelled - toes. His antennae waves in the soft breeze, tasting the air. His gills ripple gently, breathing softly. He feels… strangely peaceful. Light. Not nearly as out of place in his own skin (shell?) as he should. His stomach still churns sometimes at the stranger in the mirror, and glimpses of his hands sometimes startle him, but… just being here, just feeling his body, living in it… that's pretty okay.
Opening his eyes - both alien now, but one gold and one strangely still blue - he jogs a few tentative steps, a little unsteady. His new legs are strong. Maybe he's weak for a Prawn, he doesn't know, but compared to his normal legs, they're downright powerful. Gradually, he breaks into an all-out run.
what: Wikus gets his metamorphosis over with, bit by bit.
when: Month of June
where: Various (Floor 8 Community Housing, Bar, Hospital, wherever)
warnings: Transformation body-horror, possible talk about dicks (or lack thereof), gender essentialist talk?
i. My Body Is A Cage
Wikus does his best to settle into a routine - he's sleeping regularly now, he's got a job, his checkups at the hospital are scheduled - but it's hard to really feel settled when his body keeps shaking things up and making normal tasks difficult.
Eating, for one, is a pain in the ass when you have no teeth. And without being able to breathe through his nose he isn't about to try and swallow bites whole like he'd seen Prawns do. That seemed like a good way to choke to death. So now every mealtime he slurps down a not-especially-appetizing-looking, specially prescribed, nutrient slurry. It tastes a lot better than it looks.
Getting dressed was awkward as well. He's got barbs that keep catching on his clothing, and sometimes his antenna seem to be deliberately getting in his way… He's starting to see the logic behind Christopher Johnson's improvised vest.
His manual dexterity only gets worse when his four mostly-human fingers start fusing together into two, and soon he's fumbling everything. It really doesn't help that he has only one thumb (he really regrets chopping off his left one).
Next to go is his ability to walk. It's not surprising that his legs started shifting out of sync, but being lopsided definitely does a number on your mobility. He tries out crutches first, but it's not long before he can't walk more than a few meters before his legs start burning and his joints throb. The doctors try to explain it as something to do with the stresses of intermediate forms between digitigrade and plantigrade legs, but all it really means to him is that until his legs finish growing out, he'll be stuck in a wheelchair.
Physically, it's easier than he expected. There's a strength in his alien arms that he's never had as a human. As far as actually navigating the chair goes… that he needs practice with. In the meantime, door frames and unguarded toes need to watch out.
ii. Pour One Out
Losing body parts wasn't easy on the psyche. He got used to losing teeth after the first several dropped out. Peeling away his earlobes left him sick and shook both times. He wasn't able to look himself in the mirror straight after the fleshy remainder of his nose came off (the underlying structures long gone).
But it's only the loss of a particular, ahem, set of body parts that has Wikus skipping out on work to snivel pathetically in a bar, surrounded by a growing forest of empty beer bottles.
iii. Breathless
Even going uphill, Wikus rarely finds himself out of breath from rolling around in his hospital-loaned wheelchair. So why, going at a leisurely pace as he is now, is he panting like he just finished a jog.
Stopping to rest, he can't seem to catch his breath, and he feels a thread of panic. If anything, the feeling gets worse, going from panting to outright gasping. He sucks in as deep a breath as he can and then… nothing. He can't exhale. He can't inhale. He can't breathe.
Clutching at his throat and chest, his diaphragm heaves uselessly and he can't even get out a choking noise. Yes, he is definitely panicking now.
iv. Impatient Inpatient
After the harrowing incident when Wikus's breathing switched from trachea to gills, he and the hospital staff decide it’s best for him to stay at the hospital for awhile. It isn't his favorite decision - he still has flashbacks sometimes to being strapped to a dissection table - but it’s better to have doctors immediately on hand in case any of his other major organs decide to fail during the transition.
The transformation is largely complete now, most of the remaining changes being internal. His mouth parts are growing in, but for awhile he's completely mute. Even once they do grow in, it's still a struggle to figure out how to speak with them. Human phonemes are completely unpronounceable now, and understanding the Prawn language is a lot different than speaking it.
Fairly often he can be found practicing speech in a mirror, trying to figure out how to make the various sounds he remembers learning. Other times he's wandering the hospital grounds, either in his chair or wobbling unsteadily on nearly-transformed legs. Sometimes he's up in his assigned room, either lounging in bed watching TV or doing his job remotely from the small desk.
All in all, the last days of his transformation are pretty damn boring. He could use some company.
v. Beautiful Butterfly
It's a relief when he's finally discharged from the hospital. All the tests show that his body has reached its new equilibrium. It's not the body he wants, but being all one thing feels better than being a jumble of mismatched pieces.
He's taken Christopher's example to heart, and taken to wearing vests with comfortably wide arm holes. He likes them baggy, hanging down to bunch over the pronounced crests of his hips. Tops meant to be tight on humans just look odd on his Prawn body, snug around the chest then drooping listlessly, unable to sit close to his incredibly thin abdomen.
Bottoms are a bigger problem. Pants are right out. He does his best with baggy shorts with elastic waists or draw strings, but he has to admit they look odd, stretched over his hips but with waistbands too wide to sit snug on his belly. It's better than being naked, though. He can work on it.
The first place he goes on being set free is the nearest park. He stands in the grass for a long time, eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of it under his bare - though tough-shelled - toes. His antennae waves in the soft breeze, tasting the air. His gills ripple gently, breathing softly. He feels… strangely peaceful. Light. Not nearly as out of place in his own skin (shell?) as he should. His stomach still churns sometimes at the stranger in the mirror, and glimpses of his hands sometimes startle him, but… just being here, just feeling his body, living in it… that's pretty okay.
Opening his eyes - both alien now, but one gold and one strangely still blue - he jogs a few tentative steps, a little unsteady. His new legs are strong. Maybe he's weak for a Prawn, he doesn't know, but compared to his normal legs, they're downright powerful. Gradually, he breaks into an all-out run.
no subject
[ It's not that Cisco means to keep asking precisely the wrong questions, it's just that most people don't really mind talking about their jobs, and Wikus was the one who had brought his into it, anyway. Besides, Cisco just has a natural curiosity about how a version of earth with aliens and humans would even function. Particularly if the aliens look the way Wikus looks now - not like something from an old Star Trek episode: basically a human with some paint slapped on. ]
Oookay. Little bit cryptic with the wording there, but okay.
[ There's a light teasing tone in his voice as he says it. Cisco isn't actually suspicious, and expects that Wikus is merely abridging his answer because it's complicated but in a boring way that wouldn't be of much interest to someone else.
He sees, too, that Wikus is having some trouble operating the keypad for the text to speech, and he offers: ]
Hey, I know you said the doctors are trying to do something, but 'til then you want me to make you something better to type on? Kinda looks like that one's giving you a bit of trouble, and that'd be pretty easy to whip up.
no subject
His inability to speak easily and coherently is a great excuse for not expanding on topics he's not comfortable discussing at the moment. Hopefully the restless twitching of his antennae and secondary hands don't read as nervous.
His entire demeanor perks up at the mention of making a new device. He forgoes the typing process.]
You. Can do. That?
[He spreads out his hands for Cisco to see, the phone looking a bit undersized compared to his thick tentacle-like fingers. His missing left thumb is very evident when side by side with his right hand.
Then he curls his hands back up to type] Was never great at texting anyway.
no subject
Are you kidding? Won't even be tricky.
[ When he'd made that first offer, Cisco had been thinking of just converting a tablet to do nothing but text to speech. But, seeing how awkward and small that phone is in Wikus' hands, he realizes that isn't going to be good enough. He should just make him a multipurpose phone that will be easier to use with the hands he's got, missing thumb and all. It'd take a little more work, but for Cisco, it's not all that big of a deal.
His head is already full of possibilities and plans, and he asks: ]
Would it be easier if I put in some swiping software, you know, so you can do it like this, rather than like this?
[ And he demonstrates dragging the tip of his finger across the surface of his own phone, going between letters without ever lifting up, versus the standard method of texting, just tapping at the screen, which Cisco imagines is harder if his hands are somewhat uncoordinated, and certainly if he is missing a thumb. ]
Should be able to get it to you in a day or so, if you want?
[ He could probably do it faster if he rushed, but Cisco wants to take his time with it and make sure it's as good as possible. He can do that sort of thing, here, where the tech he's making is usually not needed in life-or-death situations in the next hour or so. ]
no subject
[Wikus watches Cisco's demonstration, nodding idly.] Yes, maybe.
[And there's everything lifting in surprise again.] That fast?
no subject
I know, I know... it's the kind of thing that probably sounds complicated if you're not a techie but trust me, it's a pretty easy fix. Not like I'm inventing anything, not like I'm developing any software from scratch, not like I've gotta figure out how to make a whole bunch of 'em on a budget with limited materials. Just custom-making one phone is a cinch for anybody who's got half a clue what they're doing.
[ It's not false modesty, or at least, Cisco doesn't think so. He just doesn't want Wikus feeling indebted when in actuality, he's happy to help. ]
Yeah, no sweat. Here, lemme, um...
[ Cisco reaches over, and when Wikus doesn't object, gently plucks the phone from his hands. Cisco quickly opens a note-taking app and taps out the address of his workshop, plus some very basic directions about how to find it. ]
Come by sometime tomorrow and I'll have it ready for you.
no subject
He reserves the right to consider anyone younger than 30 a kid.]
Thanks. [It's about all he can think to say, especially with his currently limited vocabulary.] I owe you?
no subject
Naw naw naw, this one's on the house, don't sweat it. Buy me a coffee sometime if you want and that's more than enough.
[ Maybe not the most sound economic decision, but Cisco's getting along just fine doing his independent contracting. Hell, he's making more than he ever did back in Central City, and rent's a lot less, so he would feel pretty terrible charging for this.
Unless of course, Wikus had meant it as a favor? Either way, he doesn't think it's worth a debt. ]
Well, I'm gonna let you get back to your running and get started working on this. See you tomorrow?
[ And with a wave and a smile, Cisco turns to head back to his workshop; he's kind of looking forward to this little project. ]