001 ❅ home sick?

[scowlish]

[At first, there is only a blur of sensation - dappled sunlight filtered through tree branches on soft grass, the feeling of a cat's warm belly under the hand, the scent of petrichor and fresh-baked bread, the vague taste of blueberries at the back of the throat, a soft female voice saying 'love you' in such a cheerful tone.

The tonal shift is abrupt and jarring, all that pleasantness drowned out by fear and loss and pain and aching loneliness. Just for a few moments.

And then a voice coalesces from the combination of sensations and emotions, and it sounds exhausted beyond reason, a little husky, breathy.]

This is very important. Please pay attention.

[A pause, and the feeling of fear is back, the sharpness of immediate anxiety overlaid on the background thrum of existential dread.]

Has anyone come down with a rash that wasn't there before? It'll be itchy and sore. Might be combined with vomiting and spells of fever.

If anyone is out there and has symptoms like that, isolate yourself immediately and please call me.

[A pause, and a little 'hmph' noise.]

I'm Onni Hotakainen.

Comments

cw: skin gore

[snaggletooth]

[ A little bit of his skin has sloughed off; that's probably bad. ]

And then what happens to them? It sounds like you know.

[scowlish]

[The sensation of a deep sigh, and the blooming of a headache behind the temples.]

They turn into things called Trolls, lose their sense of self, and live to hunt and infect others.

[snaggletooth]

[ just like him fr

There are already living things that do that, aren't there? ]

So I guess it's serious for someone seeing these signs, hm! What will calling you do?

[scowlish]

[The sensation of a very deep sigh, and then a heavy sort of sadness that lingers in the back of his voice.]

If someone calls me, I'll talk them through their options, explain the process, and come later to put them out of their misery and guide their soul to the afterlife.

cw: skin gore

[snaggletooth]

[ There's a pause, probably of a disconcerting length for someone listening on in the middle of a discussion of this nature. This person is thinking, an act that tickles the link between them like the buzzing of insects.

Then, there is a flicker of an open lesion, although the top layers of skin fold away from an odd oily blackness instead of red. ]

Would you please explain, then? I'm curious. Just don't take this as though I'm offering myself up to die.

[scowlish]

[Onni is simply quiet while the person he's talking to thinks. He can hear it, the way the other person's mind is working, a low humming buzz that starts to make his ear tickle after a few moments.

Then he sees that lesion, just a flicker, and Onni's brow furrows as he focuses on what he could make out of it.]

That doesn't look like the Rash to me. But we can't rule it out either.

[A pause, as he considers what else he might need to explain.]

It's pretty simple. You get a rash, red and sore and itchy. Then you start vomiting, have a fever, and other signs of being sick. You're bedridden for several weeks, and then your body starts to mutate into a Troll. The disease eats your skin away in some places, in others it creates pustules and tumors, and you stop resembling a human, lose your sense of will. We've never been able to bring back someone who's progressed that far.

[A hum, deep in his throat. There's the sensation of him crossing his arms against his chest.]

But like I said, that doesn't look like the Rash, really.

[snaggletooth]

[ Where other minds are reactive, Ivan's side of the connection remains still and silent while Onni explains, like speaking into a vacuum void. There's no rush of relief when he's done, in spite of those twinfold reassurances. That would've required having truly been worried to begin with. ]

Thank you.

That was a lot of information! I can't say I've experienced any of those things so far, so let us hope that doesn't change. To tell you the truth, it stings only slightly. I can almost forget that it's there, if it wasn't for the bleeding.

[ Perhaps the fact that it doesn't hurt is stranger. ]

Where was it you learned all of this? The biology curriculum at Anakt Garden wasn't this extensive.

[sorte]

Are you a doctor? That would be wonderfully beneficial for our predicament.

[scowlish]

Unfortunately, no.

[It sounds more tired than ever.]

It's a disease from my home that essentially ended the Old World. Everyone where I come from knows the symptoms.

[sorte]

Such a shame.

[ that he isn't a doctor or about his home's disease is surprisingly not easy to figure out, like the sympathy is there, but it's stuck in mud. ]

Does that mean your home has found a way to control it if there's a "New World"?

[scowlish]

I suppose.

[He can feel that slightly "stuck" sympathy, and isn't sure what to make of it.]

No. We're still looking for a cure, but more and more people are born Immune as the time passes. As for now, most of us live in walled cities or guarded settlements.

[sorte]

You're immune, then?

[scowlish]

No.

[sorte]

[ some cricket noises in the murmur here. ]

... So you want to be called if someone has symptoms of this disease... why, again, exactly?

1/2

[scowlish]

...so I can avoid those people, obviously.

2/2

[scowlish]

[A deep, deep, deep deep deep internal sigh.]

And so I can guide their spirits to the afterlife after I put them out of their misery.

[sorte]

[ usually deadpan seriousness like this should not be hilarious, but he's just finding the most intriguing people here and what with having expected this person to be a good samartian with an overzealous death wish, it's also extremely tension relieving.

he laughs. ]

Oh?! I see I misjudged you, my friend.

How does it spread back where you are from?

[scowlish]

Oh? What did you think I was like?

[That's kind of flat, but after a moment, he sighs again. Onni sounds so weary, it's like the exhaustion is in his bones.]

Droplets, generally, like most colds. That can come from an infected human even before symptoms show up. Once they're Trolls, it generally takes a bite, except for a few rare ones who can transmit it by breathing. Some of them spit, though. You have to watch out for that.

[sorte]

You know, a self-sacrificing do-gooder that gets themselves into danger every chance they get while hoping to help others.

[ hums thoughtfully. ]

I've seen several mutated creatures but nothing humanoid, yet.

[shatteredlenses]

[There is something ever so slightly familiar about this person's connection, but before Ignis can contemplate that familiarity too much, the person is speaking, though it's not their words that catch Ignis' attention so much as it is the fear.

The anxiety.

The dread.

He knows those feelings, not because he's felt them himself, but because he's heard others talk about them.

The Scourge.

Anyone caught outside of the Wall that protects Insomnia at night fears it. The unknown malady that turns humans into daemons with no hope of recovery unless they are lucky enough to be near to the Oracle's healing light. But those who are infected are many, and she is but one.

She is but one, and she is no longer walks upon Eos' shores.

It takes a moment for Ignis to push back the unease and sadness that thought brings him before he finally speaks.]

Greetings, Onni. My name is Ignis Scientia. Would I be right in assuming these are the symptoms of a plague that affects your home?

[scowlish]

[At first, Onni thinks it's some strange reflection of what he'd put out into the ether to communicate with - it's familiar, the fear and anxiety that's reflected back at him - but after a few moments he realizes that the emotions aren't quite like his, just very similar.

Letting out a long huff of breath between pursed lips, he speaks in return.]

Yes, that's correct. It destroyed the Old World, and while we're starting to have more and more births of people who are Immune, we're still fighting it. No cure.

[shatteredlenses]

Please accept my apologies as one who lives with a similar malady affecting my world. We have no cure...

[Especially now that Lady Lunafreya is dead.]

...nor is immunity a thing that has developed. We have a prophecy and hopes it will one day cleanse our world from what Ifrit released upon it in his madness.

Is it impolite of me to ask if you know the source of your plague?

[offseers]

[ hm. ]

What makes you think this disease traveled with you? Nothing else seems to have come with us.

[scowlish]

I don't know if it came with me, but there's a slight chance. I wasn't able to sanitize my clothing right away because there's no sun here, but I used some disinfectants I found in the ruins, providing they're not so expired they're useless.

But if there's even a slight chance, we should watch out for it. Whatever this place has done to the animals...it's similar, but not the same. It would be terrible to have both.

[offseers]

[ interesting. aventurine mentioned that too. even noah has noticed. shades of their worlds, intermingling. but what does it mean? ]

Thank you for the warning. We should find a way to confirm it. Is there a safe way to do that?

[scowlish]

Mhm. The only safe way I can think of is with a cat. But I haven't seen a single normal cat here yet.

[offseers]

What's a cat?

[vocalistyodels]

[Cooper isn't concerned it'll be an issue for him, but others... it's good to be informed.]

Sounds like the morning after with a chem junkie.

[BUT more seriously.]

Ain't gonna tell us how it ends?

1/2

[scowlish]

What's a chem junkie?

2/2

[scowlish]

[Well, Onni physically shakes that off by giving his head a bit of a shake.]

Anyway, how it ends isn't very nice. Not the sort of thing I wanted to lead with.

[Another bone-weary sigh.]

Whatever's left of your humanity dies while your body erodes away around you, then twists and mutates into something that no longer looks human and lacks any human traits like agency or will. The thing that remains is called a Troll, and it lives only to hunt, feed, and infect.

[vocalistyodels]

Druggie.

[If this guy expects a detailed explination it's not coming.]

Don't think now's the time to be precious bout shit.

[He listens though and a lot of it sounds pretty familiar. The brother from another mother to what a ghoul is. Similar but not exact.]

Hn... seen stuff like that before. Could even say I'm infected, but ain't from swapping germs with some troll.

[scowlish]

[Onni's not sure that he understands that, exactly. It's not the sort of issue that they tend to have where he lives.]

Maybe not.

[A pause, and that flicker of fear rises in him again when he hears this person is infected. That flicker can be felt through the Murmur.]

You are? Is it contagious?

[vocalistyodels]

[That's not a fear he's unused to seeing, maybe even feeling it himself a long time ago.]

Oh not in the way you're thinking. S'not a virus, can't get bit or scratched and you turn.

[Even though he may look like what people would call a zombie, it works different.]

Now if one've you put me down and turned me into dinner, probably get a good ol' dose of radiation poisoning. Wouldn't recommend it.

[Killing and eating him or the radiation poisoning? Both? Shrugs.]

[untilldeath]

[He's finding it easier to speak through this strange, surreal mode of communication. It is not perfected by far, but he's come to realize that it isn't quite the same reality as what he experiences when the veil isn't in place.

It hurts to speak, but he can still speak, with effort and a little bit of will. Through this strange murmuring of sound and feeling and illusion, images can speak for him — forming a voice and words and intent.

At first, it was all static. Maybe because his mental state felt like that. He doesn't feel much better right now. What he feels is cold, tired, and painfully hungry, all of which are easily felt. But that is a different thing entirely from the mental confusion and distraught he felt upon first waking, of actively bleeding out, and feeling the life in his body pour out of him while haunted by the memories of his last day.

He is no longer bleeding out. His injuries have been tended to, but he isn't exactly doing well yet either. He doesn't know what food is edible, where to find it to begin with, and what he has found for warmth is nothing more than a moth-eaten blanket that must have belonged to a child at some point. It will do until he manages to find something better, at least. The feelings that surround the person connecting through the murmur, though, are of someone determined, but incredibly struggling. Uncertainty pulls tight throughout.

News of a disease atop all the other problems they have right now is not the sort of thing he is thrilled to hear. It's his 'inner voice' that speaks for him right now, forming the question properly.]

How does it spread?