text, un: strange

[rehandle]

The mission files on the station are corrupted. A sample of 4 for certain, including the crew's most recent mission, enough to extrapolate that the rest could be the same. All files and functions aboard this station are part of Olivia's wider access. While the files exist in the Ximilia's programming, so does the corruption exist within 0-L1V-14. There's no separating them from her without deleting them.

I've asked her to isolate them all and deny direct access requests

DO NOT ATTEMPT to access the mission files directly. The consequences are steep, immediate, and it's impossible to know for certain how far-reaching.



We have the option to delete the files, but the fact that they're corrupted speaks to their significance.

We need to be careful what we do here. Time and reality are fickle friends on the best of days. Aboard the Ximilia we have no universal law to fall back on.

If anyone has any further insight, good time to share with the class.



[ It's somewhat disjointed, peppered with wizardly wisdom, thoughts ordered until they're interrupted by themselves and then fall back into line again - but he's said everything he needs to say, and he can manage the rest in shorter bursts if people get back to him. It'll do. ]


( ooc. Stephen had a chat with Olivia and ended up having a not good very bad time. Feel free to infoshare, theorise and threadjack etc to your heart's content! )

Comments

cw: panic attack (poorly researched)

[rehandle]

[ And just like that, there's Yujin. Voice steady and familiar if not in a context he's heard it before, palm a gentle soothing pressure. He nods, a small little flurry of movement - acknowledgement, agreement - and keeps breathing.

With two new counterpoints to latch onto he can finally squeeze his eyes closed, shutting out the beds and trappings of the lives of people he's never met and trying as best as he can to draw on all the techniques he has for calm. But it's not so much the fear he's fighting now as it is the domino effect of physiological consequences that comprise panic.

His heart hammers in his chest and with the hammering hiccups his breath and with the overwork of his lungs builds the panic and with the panic hammers his heart -

A deep and stuttering in-breath gives way to a little sound of distress on the release, but he forces another long inhale and he holds to that pattern in spite of his lungs clawing clusters of micro-breaths in random snatches, does it over and over no matter how much it feels like he's drowning. And eventually, as an afterthought, his fingers uncurl from his grip on the sheets and twitch slightly. Magic begins to catch hold of his nerves, whisper to his muscles, supporting and cajoling them to ease.

It's not as effective as it could be were he in full control of himself. But between his efforts, the comforting blanket of energy repurposed and sent to his aid and Yujin's steady, reassuring presence— the staccato of his breathing begins to lose its labor.

He finally manages a full cycle of breath that sounds more like the uneven snuffle of the minutes after crying than a desperate, ragged bid for air, and opens his eyes to stare at the floor between his feet. ]

[softshoes]

[Gradually, Stephen comes back to himself. His breaths come easier; his shoulders lose their stiff fight-or-flight tension; Yujin's thumb, pressed lightly over the vein inside his wrist, verifies that Stephen's pulse isn't racing any longer.]

Good. [murmurs Yujin.] It's over.

[But he hasn't moved his hand away from its place on Stephen's back, nor has he turned his head to look at the man. Where he had once braced Stephen's body to his own, anchoring him to something solid, some means of comfort, Yujin suddenly goes slack against him. A cord pulled taut and released. The last thread of his composure finally cut through.

Yujin squeezes his eyes shut tight, breathing a slow inhale-exhale that shudders only a little. Finally, his hand slips away, and all that remains is his head leaned awkwardly against the other man's shoulder.

He'll have to examine Stephen in a minute. For now, he's nearly as exhausted as if he'd had his own attack. Yujin, in that moment of stillness and peace, simply lingers where he is.]

[rehandle]

[ It takes him a few quiet moments of coming back to himself to register the shift— but when Yujin's hand finally drops, Stephen blinks down at his stupid red gala shoes as he wakes up to the rest. The weight of him against his side, no longer a rock; the unrest in his breath, deliberately paced to keep that quiver from getting any worse; ... his head on his shoulder, a grounding point found instead of gifted, and when Stephen lifts his own head to tilt just a little in search of whatever glimpse of him he can get without disturbing him he decides that it isn't enough. ]

It's okay.

[ Voice low and rough from recent stress but earnest, unbroken. It's held at no more than a murmur, there for only Yujin, and as he speaks he shifts his right foot to nudge the other man's left, shifts again to line them up, a small but he hopes not insignificant point of contact when small is exactly what helped him to pull focus from big, from everything else, from too much.

Yujin's need for careful breath lends purpose to his own and he latches onto it, each cycle growing easier and more intentional, steadying the rise and fall of the shoulder where the doctor rests and making of it another offering. The hand whose wrist had been a reading point before now reaches to do the same in turn, though Stephen isn't reading Yujin's pulse when he settles his own shaking thumb against his pulse point (his hands will scream at him for his grip in those sheets once the adrenaline's died down but for now they co-operate for as long as he doesn't call on them to feel), just holding there, the rest of his hand a lightly tremoring cradle. ]

We're alright now.

[ We. Both of them. And whether or not that's true in this moment, it will be in another. Time is adrift here, but it still passes. ]

[softshoes]

[Truthfuly, he'd expected nothing from Stephen. With the fatigue of the last however-many hours setting in at long last, he'd needed only a moment of respite. Simply a minute or two of blessed nothing: after ghost matter, after the dread he'd felt sitting in Emerton Haughtford's passenger seat, after the agonizing experience of his memories spilling out of his head and heart for all to see over and over again. Selfishly, he'd taken his minute of peace on the most convenient shoulder available.

Then, the small and grounding nudge; Stephen's voice, low and still hoarse, very near to his ear. Yujin, puzzled, opens his eyes and stares down at their feet. He pushes back with his left foot, just a little, if but to confirm that presence-- that Stephen is here with him, out of step with time but near enough to touch, and to move with him.

And although his hand trembles, Yujin's pulse thrums under Stephen's thumb just a little bit faster.

Yujin huffs, the sparse beginning of a laugh cut short.]

We are. [Yujin answers, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. Reluctantly, he shifts: as he begins the process of detaching himself from their funny not-quite-an-embrace, he ducks his head, keeping the somewhat flustered look on his face safely out of sight for the time being.]

I will still need to take a look at you, though.

[rehandle]

Yessir.

[ And here he even has the wherewithal to huff a laugh of his own. That's good work, doctor. The worst is past.

Stephen lets up his hold on Yujin's wrist as he makes moves to regain his own space, but that need for a look over doesn't seem to stop with him. If the exhaustion that dropped him onto Stephen's shoulder is anything to go by, this man needs more than just a brief respite. So he's watching him, a diagnostic eye vaguely tracing him for signs of anything more amiss, concern automatically translated to quiet action.

But there's nothing more he can do for Yujin's state of overwhelm now than inhabit space - and try to take himself off of the man's plate as quickly as possible. ]

I'll take a check up in exchange for prescribing you some rest.

[ That was an embarrassing sentence to say out loud but he doesn't seem to notice. It's been a long day, he can be corny if he wants to be corny. ]

[softshoes]

[Fortunately, there isn't much to tell. Aside from looking like he could sleep for a week, Yujin appears entirely normal, without a sign of anything resembling Stephen's symptoms at all. Dr. Strange has an easy case on his hands, this time: looks like Yujin is just a little burned out, and on a shorter emotional fuse for it.

Probably. (It's the orbs and that, actually, but who's counting?)

The reassurance already seems to have helped. The corniness too, even. His hesitant smile becomes more wry:] Don't they say that doctors make terrible patients? Doesn't bode well for us treating each other, does it? [There's sleeping arrangements to organize, food to ration, and an infirmary in need of an inventory. He hasn't even asked Stephen what it was he saw, though that one, of course, can wait as long as it needs. He'll have to try his best not to work himself too hard anymore, though. Stephen did ask.]

But I promise I will. Now, let's return to the infirmary-- whenever you're ready.

[He pauses. Then, he reaches out to rest a hand on Stephen's upper arm once more.]

...Thank you.

[Yujin considers clarifying, but decides against it. He's just grateful, for all of it. Hopefully the sentiment will stand enough on its own. With that, he slides off the edge of the bunk and gets to his feet, ready to head back whenever Stephen does.]

[rehandle]

Mm, well. What was that saying about beggars and choosers?

[ It's a joke, the doctors on the station are excellent, but a nod is owed to the fact that they can probably still be counted on one hand (not including Stephen, who's yet to be remotely useful in any medical capacity since arriving and doesn't really plan on starting now.)

Yujin promises his good behaviour all the same. It earns a lopsided little victory smile from one Dr. Strange - which mellows into something less playful at the touch to his arm. The thanks that follows it.

Hm.

It seems to take him a second to internalize, to sit with and let settle. It's a moment spent running the last few minutes back through a mind less addled, taking stock of the things worth Yujin thanking him for.

And what do you know? Turns out old dogs can learn new tricks faster than expected.

A swift, deep breath in pulls him out of his thoughts, and he pushes up to his feet to follow doctor's orders. ]

I'm pretty sure that's my line.

[ Light, warm, not an actual dismissal. There's a bigger thank you owed here than just that suggestion of one, but Yujin's gratitude is fresh and earnest and he leaves it to hold its space as he tests out a step or two, finds his body content to move, and nods his readiness to depart.

To the infirmary, then. He'll be fine now, he knows, the benefit of having lived out lives upon lives erased as soon as they were over and come out of it if not healthy then whole... but Yujin's promised him he'll rest. And a deal is a deal. ]