In which Cor jumps to several incorrect conclusions.
----
Cor pulled, hard, but he couldn't break free. The body jerked again, held down place by the straps, and black motes began seeping from the man's skin. They bunched thickest at the stab wound and the dissected arm, flowing in masses across the body. Cor felt a slight tingling, though no discomfort, where they touched his hand.
By the time the black motes dissipated, seeping back 'til nothing remained, Cor wasn't even surprised to see the man start to gasp, chest heaving, neck arched as if he were still in pain. The open wounds had healed into shiny scars, mottled in black. The right arm had reformed itself, though the tubes that had been attached to his veins remained, sticking oddly out.
"What the hell are you?" Cor whispered.
There were no stories or rumors of the scourge healing its victims. This man... was his strange scourge the product of Nif experimentation? Were they trying to bend the disease to military use? Cor envisioned hordes of Nif soldiers, rising up from whence they'd fallen. Were there more like him, locked away in other labs? Even Insomnia -- even Regis -- couldn't resist an unkillable enemy.
His mind fell upon another horror, and held fast to it: what if the scourge itself was a byproduct of the experiments conducted here?
A door slammed, not too far away, and Cor made several very poor decisions in the space of a heartbeat.
He leaned down to grab the knife, and started cutting through the straps.
You're going to get yourself killed. This whole mission will be wasted!
He shoved the thought back to a corner of his mind. The mission had just added another new objective.
I'll rethink my impulsive decisions LATER, Clarus. That particular nagging bit of conscience always had a familiar voice.
"OK, if you can manage to keep up," and even as Cor was said it, he was thinking, oh astrals, the stairs, "you're coming with me."
The man's eyes were still screwed shut, his lips twisted in a grimace. Cor stopped cutting.
"Hey."
Another slam, and Cor thought he heard faint shouting.
He patted the man's face, and again, a little harder, until he saw a sliver of yellow staring at him. Cor held up the hand the man still gripped, showing him his own arm pulled free from its bonds. The yellow eyes grew wider.
"Quid facis?" The man's voice was clearer then before, though he spoke through labored breaths. "Neque tu times?'
"Yeah. Would you let go of my hand for a minute?" He pried at the fingers holding his, and was relieved when the man released his grip. Cor resumed cutting, sawing at the tight nylon as fast as he could without catching flesh. He didn't know what to do with the healed-over arm, but blood no longer flowed through the lines. He sliced through them; it could be dealt with later. When he was done, he started pulling off wires and sensors and tubes, less gently than he had with the baby, slowing down only slightly to drain the balloon before tugging the catheter free. Another skill from Accordo's medical tents. That earned a glare.
Cor laid a hand on the man's shoulder in silent apology.
"All right, we're going to get you up. Come on."
Cor pulled up on the man's shoulder, and he seemed to understand, raising himself just enough for Cor to get an arm under his shoulders.
It's already been all over me. I'm already exposed. So's the kid. Huh. Maybe I'll come back to life when they find us and shoot me.
He lifted, trying not to notice how close to dead weight his body was. With the man sitting on the edge of the table, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up, Cor consulted out his army datapad, flicking quickly through the map. He found what he wanted, and tapped the screen off.
"Stay here. I'll be right back."
Not waiting for an answer, Cor dashed back to the hall. A quiet voice followed him, full of confusion: "Nescio."
The baby had managed to roll out of his sheets. Cor scooped him back into place, and hitched the makeshift sling around his chest.
"Ready to go, kid?"
The baby squirmed a little, settling in. He burbled a little, but he wasn't the only one Cor heard. It was definitely Marcus, and another voice calling back. Cor shouldn't have left the soldier alive.
Get moving.
Cor rushed back into the lab, ignoring the pointed stare the man gave the sling. Without a word -- because what was the point? -- Cor pulled the man's arm over his own shoulders and slipped an arm behind his back, tugging him forward, supporting his weight as it dropped to the floor.
Cor moved one foot forward, and the man took a trembling step. Too slow. They walked three more before his legs collapsed, and Cor was almost pulled down on top of him.
"Discede. Ego quoque infirmi." He pulled away from Cor, and the Marshal let his arm slide down. Some things were easy to understand. It had been a stupid thing to try.
"Discede!" The man's voice broke, and he seemed to fold in on himself, his whole body going slack. Cor grimaced, and knelt, grabbing ahold of the man's unresisting left arm with his right and pulling it over his shoulder. He'd just carry the man, too. It would be awkward with the baby, but they weren't going far. Not yet. He rose to a crouch, reached back back to find the man's thigh, and hitched him halfway into place.
"Astrals, you've got to at least hang on!"
He stood the rest of the way, off balance, and finally the man seemed to come aware again, wrapping his other arm around the Marshal's neck. Cor grabbed his other leg, and started off.
I feel like a chocobo.
Cor was anything but fond of chocobos.
They'd made it out of the laboratory wing and down most of another hallway when Cor swerved toward the door of an office and stopped running. Shifting the man's weight to one side, he reached into the armiger and pulled out a flask of firaga. It was the first magic he'd retrieved since reaching Niflheim. He was too rusty for this.
No time for second thoughts.
He threw the flask at the opposite wall, grabbed to brace the man's arm, and ducked back into the hall just as the flames burst out behind him. He counted to ten, and raced through the smoldering office toward the hole he'd blown in the wall.
He thought he have heard the man scream something into his ringing ears, or it might have been Marcus, or it might even have been himself.
Cor reached the edge, and jumped out into the night.
----
Latin this time is again pretty obvious stuff: "What are you doing?" -- "Who are you? Aren't you afraid?" -- "I don't understand." (Ardyn is so confused about who this crazy man who keeps running in circles is.) -- and "Leave. I'm too weak." I didn't pop these in up there, 'cause Cor doesn't know what he's saying.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Fill #2 (3/?): Ardyn + Cor + Prompto, Dysfunctional escaped lab rat family
Date: 2017-09-18 03:15 am (UTC)----
Cor pulled, hard, but he couldn't break free. The body jerked again, held down place by the straps, and black motes began seeping from the man's skin. They bunched thickest at the stab wound and the dissected arm, flowing in masses across the body. Cor felt a slight tingling, though no discomfort, where they touched his hand.
By the time the black motes dissipated, seeping back 'til nothing remained, Cor wasn't even surprised to see the man start to gasp, chest heaving, neck arched as if he were still in pain. The open wounds had healed into shiny scars, mottled in black. The right arm had reformed itself, though the tubes that had been attached to his veins remained, sticking oddly out.
"What the hell are you?" Cor whispered.
There were no stories or rumors of the scourge healing its victims. This man... was his strange scourge the product of Nif experimentation? Were they trying to bend the disease to military use? Cor envisioned hordes of Nif soldiers, rising up from whence they'd fallen. Were there more like him, locked away in other labs? Even Insomnia -- even Regis -- couldn't resist an unkillable enemy.
His mind fell upon another horror, and held fast to it: what if the scourge itself was a byproduct of the experiments conducted here?
A door slammed, not too far away, and Cor made several very poor decisions in the space of a heartbeat.
He leaned down to grab the knife, and started cutting through the straps.
You're going to get yourself killed. This whole mission will be wasted!
He shoved the thought back to a corner of his mind. The mission had just added another new objective.
I'll rethink my impulsive decisions LATER, Clarus. That particular nagging bit of conscience always had a familiar voice.
"OK, if you can manage to keep up," and even as Cor was said it, he was thinking, oh astrals, the stairs, "you're coming with me."
The man's eyes were still screwed shut, his lips twisted in a grimace. Cor stopped cutting.
"Hey."
Another slam, and Cor thought he heard faint shouting.
He patted the man's face, and again, a little harder, until he saw a sliver of yellow staring at him. Cor held up the hand the man still gripped, showing him his own arm pulled free from its bonds. The yellow eyes grew wider.
"Quid facis?" The man's voice was clearer then before, though he spoke through labored breaths. "Neque tu times?'
"Yeah. Would you let go of my hand for a minute?" He pried at the fingers holding his, and was relieved when the man released his grip. Cor resumed cutting, sawing at the tight nylon as fast as he could without catching flesh. He didn't know what to do with the healed-over arm, but blood no longer flowed through the lines. He sliced through them; it could be dealt with later. When he was done, he started pulling off wires and sensors and tubes, less gently than he had with the baby, slowing down only slightly to drain the balloon before tugging the catheter free. Another skill from Accordo's medical tents. That earned a glare.
Cor laid a hand on the man's shoulder in silent apology.
"All right, we're going to get you up. Come on."
Cor pulled up on the man's shoulder, and he seemed to understand, raising himself just enough for Cor to get an arm under his shoulders.
It's already been all over me. I'm already exposed. So's the kid. Huh. Maybe I'll come back to life when they find us and shoot me.
He lifted, trying not to notice how close to dead weight his body was. With the man sitting on the edge of the table, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up, Cor consulted out his army datapad, flicking quickly through the map. He found what he wanted, and tapped the screen off.
"Stay here. I'll be right back."
Not waiting for an answer, Cor dashed back to the hall. A quiet voice followed him, full of confusion: "Nescio."
The baby had managed to roll out of his sheets. Cor scooped him back into place, and hitched the makeshift sling around his chest.
"Ready to go, kid?"
The baby squirmed a little, settling in. He burbled a little, but he wasn't the only one Cor heard. It was definitely Marcus, and another voice calling back. Cor shouldn't have left the soldier alive.
Get moving.
Cor rushed back into the lab, ignoring the pointed stare the man gave the sling. Without a word -- because what was the point? -- Cor pulled the man's arm over his own shoulders and slipped an arm behind his back, tugging him forward, supporting his weight as it dropped to the floor.
Cor moved one foot forward, and the man took a trembling step. Too slow. They walked three more before his legs collapsed, and Cor was almost pulled down on top of him.
"Discede. Ego quoque infirmi." He pulled away from Cor, and the Marshal let his arm slide down. Some things were easy to understand. It had been a stupid thing to try.
"Discede!" The man's voice broke, and he seemed to fold in on himself, his whole body going slack. Cor grimaced, and knelt, grabbing ahold of the man's unresisting left arm with his right and pulling it over his shoulder. He'd just carry the man, too. It would be awkward with the baby, but they weren't going far. Not yet. He rose to a crouch, reached back back to find the man's thigh, and hitched him halfway into place.
"Astrals, you've got to at least hang on!"
He stood the rest of the way, off balance, and finally the man seemed to come aware again, wrapping his other arm around the Marshal's neck. Cor grabbed his other leg, and started off.
I feel like a chocobo.
Cor was anything but fond of chocobos.
They'd made it out of the laboratory wing and down most of another hallway when Cor swerved toward the door of an office and stopped running. Shifting the man's weight to one side, he reached into the armiger and pulled out a flask of firaga. It was the first magic he'd retrieved since reaching Niflheim. He was too rusty for this.
No time for second thoughts.
He threw the flask at the opposite wall, grabbed to brace the man's arm, and ducked back into the hall just as the flames burst out behind him. He counted to ten, and raced through the smoldering office toward the hole he'd blown in the wall.
He thought he have heard the man scream something into his ringing ears, or it might have been Marcus, or it might even have been himself.
Cor reached the edge, and jumped out into the night.
----
Latin this time is again pretty obvious stuff: "What are you doing?" -- "Who are you? Aren't you afraid?" -- "I don't understand." (Ardyn is so confused about who this crazy man who keeps running in circles is.) -- and "Leave. I'm too weak." I didn't pop these in up there, 'cause Cor doesn't know what he's saying.